


A Flower That Bent Towards The Sun

by gaydeviants



Series: hankcon came through here [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Afterlife, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Body Horror, Cancer, Depression, Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, Hand Jobs, Horror, Human AU, Implied Cannibalism, Kidnapping, Kissing, M/M, Masturbation, Mental Illness, Murder, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Character Death, Psychological Horror, Rimming, Stalking, Suicide, Suicide Attempts, Supernatural Elements, Temporary Character Death, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Violence, but once he shows up its... fastburn?, connor's lowkey insatiable, cute terms of endearment, hank dies multiple times, lots of dialogue lifted right from the cat lady, making sexy videos, probably, questionable wig physics, slowburn insofar as it takes awhile before connor shows up, strangers to lovers in like 2 days sorry, stupid dbh references, taking sexy pictures, they both cry a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-10-08 13:20:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 45
Words: 111,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17387132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaydeviants/pseuds/gaydeviants
Summary: Hank Anderson is a depressed, aging lieutenant with a drinking problem.  His only friend in the world is his dog.  Nothing brings him joy anymore, nothing feels worth it.  On a rainy night, he decides to end his own life.  But it turns out nothing ever goes as planned, and this is only the beginning.Burdened with an unspeakable task from a mysterious woman, Hank is forced back into life, unable to truly die until he completes his mission.  And who would have thought that the stranger who broke into his home that fateful night would change everything?(A Hankcon AU based on the game 'The Cat Lady' by Harvester Games)





	1. Prologue/Notes

**Author's Note:**

> FOOF okay this is my FIRST EVER fanfic (of course, me being me, i had to go for an epic multichaptered thing) so please, be nice to me. I'm super anxious abt posting this ive had this page open for days BUT the hankcon fandom has made me feel very safe n happy and this idea would NOT leave me alone so finally after MONTHS of talking abt it........ here we go. 
> 
> this fic is just over 111k words and i'll post a couple chapters at a time cause most of them ended up being short. might be a couple days in between updates sometimes because i will wanna do one final edit of stuff before i post it, but for the most part this should get posted relatively fast. the plot is almost entirely unoriginal, save for the romance. but if u played the cat lady and didn't come out of it thinking 'wow susan and mitzi r in love' then i dont know what to tell u. i took a few liberties w some characters and puzzles to try and make the story flow better, i hope i did an okay job. lots of dialogue is lifted right from the game, or rephrased slightly, im sorry. please take the warnings/tags into account, its a pretty Intense game and has a lot of heavy themes that i hope i handled well, so it can be difficult if you are in a not great place. maybe check out the cat lady wiki if you're unsure! but also i def recommend the game its one of my favorites and it felt really relatable and hopeful. depending on what ending you get, i guess ;P 
> 
> anyway this note is getting longer than the actual prologue, i'm sorry. very special thanks to devon and kelly my best dbh gals (and honestly non dbh gals too lbr) for kicking my ass and building up my confidence, as well as alex and the rest of the animal farm dbh discord for being SO NICE to me and giving me positive feedback yall r the Tru mvps. oh also i promise only the prologue and parts of the epilogue are in first person, dont worry!

_My name is Hank Anderson. I live alone in this shithole two-bedroom apartment. I rarely go outside, I barely even make it to work anymore. Just a washed up lieutenant with a drinking problem. Sounds like a fuckin’ lonely life, and I guess that's true, but I don't like people. Not lately anyway. I don't know why I'm writing this note, really. No one will even care. I only trust my dog these days and I’ll miss him … but he’ll probably be better off without me if we’re being honest. Sumo stays with me until the end. He watches me, like he knows what I did…_

_Earlier tonight I took a bunch of pills and chased them with too much alcohol. They’re legal, the pills. That’s the real kicker. Prescribed by my doctor for my sleeping problems. But, I’ve taken 32 of them. Probably not the intended dosage. It’s all I could find in the cupboard…. Couldn’t even use the gun in the end, fuckin’ coward. The room might be spinning. I think I’ll be dead soon. It’s been a long time coming, and I’m finally fuckin’ ready for it. I've only got one more thing to say. Thanks for nothing. Fuck off and goodbye._


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOOOOOOO BOY okay here is. the first chapter. anyways uhhh. warnings for some horror elements and dead animals, also Hank's dead here so.

Hank’s first coherent thought as he opens his eyes is just, “Fuck.” He has no idea where he is, or why he seems to be anywhere at all, since he is pretty sure he’s supposed to be dead. That was the goal, anyway. His brows furrow in frustration. _Leave it to me to fuck up killing myself_ , he thinks bitterly as he takes in his surroundings. He’s standing in the middle of a field of wheat that sways back and forth in the gentle breeze. Everything is bathed in an orange light, as if the sun is about to set. It feels… almost peaceful, but there is something deeply unsettling about it. Something wrong.

The field seems to extend for miles, and Hank feels like he has no choice but to start walking and see where he ends up. He walks through the wheat for what could be hours, or could be seconds. Everything feels surreal, like a strange dream. _And that’s what this has to be, right?_ he thinks to himself. But no matter how hard he tries, he can’t make himself wake up.

The first thing he sees besides the sea of wheat is a rundown little shack with a tattered flag outside, waving sinisterly in the ever-present breeze. The one window the house sports is broken, but too high for him to reach, and the door is shut tight with a rusty padlock. However, Hank feels strangely drawn to this place, and is determined to find a way to get inside.

Finding nothing of use to him around the house, he continues forward. He comes upon a highway underpass full of crashed and abandoned cars, and doesn’t even pause for very long to consider the absurdity of it. _Yeah, sure, why the fuck not?_ he thinks as he walks further into the dimly lit underpass, the only sound his own cautious footsteps. _This is like some sort of post-apocalyptic nightmare_ , he thinks. Everything looks oddly monochromatic, no natural light to illuminate the surroundings. The breeze doesn’t reach him here, and he suddenly misses it. The complete lack of movement is somehow worse than the unnerving wind.

A noise from above startles him from his mindless wandering, and he looks up quickly, seeing only a crack in the ceiling where the barest hint of light shines through. A small cloud of dust floats down slowly, sparkling oddly in the low light. With a sigh, he continues forward, wondering how long he’s going to have to keep walking. _Forever?_ he thinks to himself. If he is… dead… then is this purgatory? Some sort of limbo?

His steps stop short as he comes upon the remains of an ambulance, crashed like all the other vehicles and completely blocking his way forward. Something about this feels distinctly wrong, and Hank decides he’d rather not know what the ambulance was transporting. Even if that means turning around and going the way he came. With one last glance at the emergency vehicle, he turns back, much more willing to retrace his steps and find somewhere above ground to figure out his next move. However, before he can get very far, a banging noise from the back of the ambulance startles him, making his heart pound. “What the fuck was that?” he says to no one in particular.

Turning back around and filled with dread, he slowly makes his way back to the doors. “Hello?” he calls, feeling just a little stupid. “Stop fucking with me already,” he says, with much more bravado than he feels as he creeps closer to the vehicle. The banging just continues, getting more and more insistent. His hands are trembling slightly as he reaches toward the handle, feeling like he’d really rather be doing anything other than what he’s about to do. Before he can reach the handle himself, however, the doors slam open on their own accord and a gurney comes shooting out, nearly knocking him off balance.

Swearing, he jumps out of the way and looks uneasily toward the gurney as it comes rolling to a stop a few feet from him, and he takes in what it’s carrying with a gasp. His eyes widen and he steps closer to the body on top. He thought he had gotten past all the weird shit that was happening, but nothing could prepare him for seeing his own dead body laid out on the gurney right in front of his eyes. _What the fuck_ , his brain screams, utterly unnerved.

_I must be in hell, that’s the only explanation for all this fucked up shit_ , he reasons with himself. Not wanting to get any closer to his own corpse but also having a nagging feeling that he’s seeing it for a reason, he reluctantly moves forward.

It’s not… actually as bad as he would have thought. He’s surprised to see how calm he looks, almost as if he’s just sleeping. That thought makes it a little easier to approach the corpse and begin his investigation. He’s not sure what he’s supposed to be doing, but he shakily opens his corpse’s eyes. Even in death they still seemed strangely animated, a bright pale blue, one of the few things he could admit to liking about himself. Turns out men and women alike can’t resist a pair of pretty eyes. Still, looking into his own dead gaze was pretty unnerving, so he carefully slides them shut again. He looks at his own face again, and thinking, _why the fuck not?_ pries the corpse’s mouth open.

Not actually thinking this would accomplish anything, he’s surprised to see a small silver key resting on the corpse’s tongue. Something deep in his gut tells him that he was meant to find this, and he definitely isn’t going to leave it behind. Pocketing the key, he decides he’s spent more than enough time with his own dead body and quickly turns around to head back the way he came.

Of course, nothing can ever be easy, and as he starts his journey back out, the ceiling above him makes an ominous cracking noise. A quick glance up shows that, naturally, the entire tunnel is starting to collapse. He really should have seen this coming, he definitely saw the cracks in the ceiling earlier. He barely has time to even panic, he just hightails it out of there as fast as he can, the tunnel collapsing at his heels.

Hank is not pleased to learn that, even in death, he’s still… not in the best shape. He barely manages to make it out of the crumbling tunnel in one piece, hunching over and breathing heavily when he finally reaches daylight once more. _Fuck, I gotta start exercising more_ , is his first thought, right before he cutting himself off, remembering he’s (probably?) dead and that’s (probably) the least of his worries right now.

Once he’s finally caught his breath he looks up, and is startled to see that he is in front of the little house again. But there’s something there that he hasn’t seen before. Standing in front of the derelict building is a deer, completely disinterested in Hank’s presence as it pokes around at the ground, nosing through the dry grass. Hank freezes, not wanting to scare away the only other living (?) thing he’s seen so far. It seems his sudden lack of movement startles the deer, however, and it glances up at him, magnificent antlers casting shadows in the dying sunlight. Then, without any preamble, it takes off.

Hank is not about to let the first sign of life out of his sight, so he hurries after it. He knows, logically, that the wheat field should be his next stop, reasoning that he’s just retracing his steps from when he first arrived. He is very unnerved, then, when instead of coming to the field he enters a forest. Logic doesn’t seem to have much of a place here. The deer appears to have a destination in mind, and Hank can’t think about it for too long if he wants to keep up with his 4 legged guide, so he keeps up his fast pace and follows the creature deeper into the forest. Everything is bathed in that orange light again, but the wind seems to have died off.

He passes old, broken down cars covered in rust, and fallen trees in his pursuit of the deer. He wonders idly just how far this forest will stretch. And then, abruptly, he enters a clearing. The deer is nowhere in sight, and what he sees instead is much less comforting.

His stomach drops as he is faced with his own corpse yet again. This time it’s hanging from a tree, a thick rope secured around its neck. The body sways gently even though there is no wind, and Hank sees something glimmering around its neck. He wants whatever it is. He goes to examine the end of the rope, hoping he can untie it. However, the rope is much too thick for him to untie with his bare hands.

Frustrated, he decides to investigate the rest of the clearing. The only other things he can see are a few cross shaped tombstones, and another rusty tin shack, covered with vines and thorns. Dead roses hang limply from the vines, and Hank suppresses a shudder. He doesn’t like flowers. He tries the door, but, of course, it’s locked. He’s afraid he’s going to have to backtrack yet again, but if his theory is right, he won’t actually end up where he started. He has no real choice but to turn around and see what he discovers next.

Despite being prepared for an uncertainty, he’s still disoriented when his journey back takes him to somewhere he doesn’t recognize. His heart speeds up, feeling lost. He forces himself to keep going, and comes upon some more tombstones. Perched on top of one of them is a crow, that takes flight with a loud ‘CAW!’ and heads back towards the clearing. Hank weighs his options, trying to decide if he should follow the crow or keep moving forward. He hates to admit, but even if it is no help to him whatsoever, he’d feel better around another being, no matter how useless it might turn out to be. The crow flies back and forth, leading him through areas of the forest he remembers, and areas he is certain he’s never been to before. He can’t think about that too much if he wants to keep his sanity in tact.

The crows end destination seems to be the inside of a shack, one of the walls completely gone. Hank’s heart rate spikes when he sees what’s in the center of the small building. The majestic deer he had been following earlier is, quite obviously, dead, and strung up in the middle of the room like some kind of macabre art installation. The crow perches above the deer and caws proudly. Flies buzz lazily around the carcass, as if its been dead for weeks, even though Hank is fairly certain it's only been moments since he last saw the creature.

Hank approaches the deer with trepidation, wondering who the fuck did this, and also what it means for him. There has to be someone else here, the crow couldn’t have done this. Shoved deep into the deer’s guts is a large knife, which Hank pulls out with no small amount of disgust. If some maniac was running around killing deer, he wanted to be prepared.

With one last glance around the shack, he heads toward the door in front of him, intending to exit and leave the disturbing display behind him. He unbolts the lock and throws the door open quickly. But, he soon realizes, he’s probably not going to get a break any time soon, because it seems he had somehow ended up inside the shack in the clearing with his hanging body. He scrubs a hand down his face in frustration, but the glimmering object around the corpse’s neck catches his eye again. Now, with knife in hand, he should be able to cut the body down. He makes short work of the rope, the knife cutting through it easily. The body falls to the ground with a grotesque thud, and Hank doesn’t waste any time going to investigate the source of the glimmer.

It turns out to be another key, worn like a necklace around his dead doppelganger's neck. He takes it without hesitation, and walks quickly away, back towards the forest. He passes through the graveyard again, feeling slightly more relaxed when he recognizes some of his surroundings, however that feeling is quickly squashed as he walks on a bit further, and comes upon a large brass gate, covered in rust and what appears to be… the severed heads of several animals. Vines covered in thorns and dead roses climb haphazardly up the rusty bars.

Hank breathes out a quiet “What the fuck?” and pushes his long hair from his face, idly making note that he really should get it trimmed, before remembering, yet again, that that is probably the least of his worries right now. He reaches for the gate and tries it, but of course its locked. However, he is now the proud owner of two different keys, He has a feeling that one of them will let him continue, and he’s correct. The key he took from the ambulance corpse’s mouth unlocks the gate and it shrieks open. Hank winces, knowing whatever lies beyond these gates is now alerted to his presence.

He doesn’t have to go far, however, before he comes upon what appears to be a run down cabin.  Dead, thorn covered roses wind around the porch on sinister looking vines. And sitting in a rocking chair on that porch, rocking back and forth slowly, is the first person he’s seen since this whole ordeal started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [find me on twitter](https://twitter.com/gaydeviants)


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> previously: _He doesn’t have to go far, however, before he comes upon what appears to be a run down cabin. Dead, thorn covered roses wind around the porch on sinister looking vines. And sitting in a rocking chair on that porch, rocking back and forth slowly, is the first person he’s seen since this whole ordeal started._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oKAY hmmm. notes for this chapter..... a LOT of amanda's dialogue is the taken directly from the original game, i know i keep saying that but i want to be transparent about that lol. some discussions of suicide in this one. obviously, i guess.

Hank takes her in without saying anything for several moments, too surprised to speak at first. She looks to be close to his age, with graying black hair braided up elegantly on top of her head and age lines visible on her dark skin. “Um-" Hank stutters out dumbly before she cuts him off.

“Welcome to my house, Hank Anderson,” she says with a smile, eyes boring into his. “I’ve been waiting for you, my dear. I knew you would turn up, one fine day like this.”

Hank takes a few steps closer. “Who… who are you?” he manages to choke out.

“I have so many names...” the woman starts, looking like she’s sharing a joke with herself. “It’s hard to choose just one.” Her constant rocking stops. “But I’m curious, who do YOU think I am?”

Hank doesn’t roll his eyes, but it's a close call. He can’t believe he’s gone through all of this and still can’t get a straight answer. “I really don’t know,” he says with an annoyed sigh. “Can’t you just _tell_ me?”

This appears to be the wrong answer. The woman narrows her eyes and looks at him with a stormy expression. “That’s very much like you, Hank,” she starts quietly. Her voice grows louder with every word. “You Won’t. Even. TRY!” Hank steps back slightly, frightened. “You have given up on everything lately, haven’t you?”

Hank forgets his fear for a second as annoyance once again floods him. “Why shouldn’t I?” he demands. “Is there a great reward for _trying_?” he asks, sarcasm incredibly obvious. The woman doesn’t answer. “Yeah, I didn’t think so.”

She seems to be mulling something over. “Would you have tried...” she starts out, slowly, “if I had told you there was?”

Hank’s thrown by that question. “Maybe...” he answers just as slowly. “I don’t know.”

“Something that could change your life forever?” she persists.

Hank’s had enough. “No! There’s nothing! There never is!” he snaps, wanting to get to the end of this conversation.

The woman looks intrigued. “And yet...” she murmurs, “some people do great things to find it.”

“Well, I’m afraid I’m not one of them,” Hank spits, wanting her to get to her point. Desperate to change the subject and find out whatever he can about his current location, he shoots out a question before she can continue. “What is this place?”

She seems to know what he’s doing but smirks gently and indulges him. “This, my dear, is my humble kingdom,” she says. “And this house is my castle. I rarely invite people in. Just like you, I value my solitude.” Hank narrows his eyes and moves unconsciously closer, not wanting to miss anything now that he might be getting some answers. “But you are a special guest and I’m going to make an exception.”

Hank scoffs at that. “Me? Special? I can tell you right now, there’s nothing special about me, lady.”

“Don’t bring yourself down, Hank Anderson,” she replies. “Today, you are my guest of honor.”  Hank huffs, feeling like he’s not going to get any more out of this line of questioning, so he changes tactics, feeling like he’s at work interrogating a suspect.

“What’s going to happen next, then?”

“Well, that depends on you, Hank,” the woman answers cryptically. “Inside my house there are dark hallways that lead to places you don’t want to see...” Hank feels a shiver run down his spine. “However, there is also something that will make you want to return to where you came from, and cherish every little breath you take.”

Hank scoffs again at this, but the woman keeps going. “I’m going to make you an offer only a fool would refuse, Hank Anderson.”

Hank crosses his arms and looks at her skeptically. “Okay. An offer. What could you possibly offer me?”

The woman abruptly stands. “Lets go inside. It’s getting cold out here.” As she says that, Hank realizes that the temperature seems to have dropped quite significantly since he arrived. Another shiver wracks him. Still, he wants to know more, so he follows her into her cabin.

It’s dark inside, light barely managing to filter through the cloudy windows. Her walls are covered with an assortment of strange things, among them another mounted animal head, and a painting of a lonely looking seashore. A vase full of wilted roses sits on a table. As he pauses his investigation, he notices the woman standing there expectantly, hands folded in front of her.

“Now we can talk properly, my dear,” she says in her serene yet unsettling voice.

“Yeah, okay, sure,” starts Hank. “But I still don’t really know who you are.”

“I go by many names-” she starts.

“Yeah, so you said.” Hank cuts her off. “Can you just give me a straight answer, _please?_ ”

She looks slightly annoyed but smiles at him nonetheless. “Well...” she starts, “I’ve never given much thought to what the living call me. But there is one name the fallen ones use when I speak to them. I find it most accurate...” Again, to Hanks annoyance, she trails off. He makes a gesture with his hand, urging her to finish the thought. She looks at him. “The Queen of Maggots,” she says quietly, smiling to herself.

Hank pauses to take this in, and then he bursts out laughing. “Okay, lady,” he starts, before he has to pause to gather himself. “Is that what you are? No offense, but that sounds like some sort of shitty super-villain name,” he says, still chuckling. This day is really getting to him. “Why maggots?”

“Because they feed on what is dead and gone,” she says flatly, and the smile falls right off Hank’s face as the reality of his situation comes crashing back down around him.

“Dead and gone...” he murmurs. “Shit, I guess… that’s me...”

She's quiet for a moment, sizing him up.  “If it makes you feel more… comfortable...” she begins, seeming unsure if she wants to continue.  “... they once called me… Amanda.”

“Amanda,” Hank says, somehow feeling much better just by addressing her by something less ludicrous than ‘The Queen of Maggots.’ “Amanda,” he starts again, sobering. “Am I gonna… be punished for killing myself or somethin'?” Hank never really thought of himself as a religious man, he had no expectations of any sort of afterlife, but this has thrown everything he’s ever believed right out the window. He has no idea what’s in store for him now.

“Most people would be,” says Amanda. “But not you, Hank. You see, I have watched you long enough to understand how you feel.” She pauses. “I don’t expect you to believe me, but I actually have sympathy for you. Who knows? I could be your only friend!” and that’s a depressing thought if Hank ever had one. “Your only friend in the whole wide world!” Amanda sing-songs. “So like I said, I’m going to make you an offer. I want to help you.”

Hank really doubts it, but he continues to hear her out. He doesn’t have any other choice. “I will give you back your happiness, in exchange for a simple task. Your life will change completely. You will be yourself again. And you will soon forget the sadness that has consumed your heart for ages.”

Said heart flutters for a moment.  Hank can’t help but feel hopeful at the prospect of getting back what he’s lost. “What do you want me to do?” he asks, finally taking her bait. He doesn’t miss the triumphant glint in her eye, but his thoughts are overpowered by too much longing to really analyze it right now.

“Yes,” she starts, “I think it’s time to explain why you’re here.” Her eyes widen in mock surprise. “But where are my manners? The hall is no place for such a serious talk. Follow me to the next room, and I will tell you everything you need to know.”

Nervously, Hank does.


	4. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> previously: _“I think it’s time to explain why you’re here.” Her eyes widen in mock surprise. “But where are my manners? The hall is no place for such a serious talk. Follow me to the next room, and I will tell you everything you need to know.”_
> 
>  
> 
> _Nervously, Hank does._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again, a lot of amanda's dialogue is from the original game, dont @ me. some general horror stuff in this one, too.

Hank follows Amanda dutifully across the hall to a set of dusty curtains, that flutter slightly even though there is no breeze. Amanda pushes the curtains aside and leads him into a grander room, sporting a large, old fashioned record player and a long, curving table covered with candles, their flames flickering gently and illuminating the room. Along the far wall is another set of curtains, framing a dark doorway that unsettles Hank. As Amanda comes to a stop in the middle of the room, Hank crosses his arms, trying not to sound too eager.

“What’s your offer then?” he says, aiming for and totally missing nonchalant. “How can you possibly fix my shitty life?”

“Hank!” Amanda says sharply. Hank is taken aback by her abruptness. “Death can fix nothing.” Hank lets out a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding, and chuckles bitterly.

“Yeah, I’m starting to get that idea,” he says, gesturing around the room and his general state of unrest.

“Yes,” Amanda agrees. “But although we are both dead, I am not Death. I might seem like just a strange old woman, but I am as powerful as the gods.” Hank raises one eyebrow skeptically, but lets her continue. “And I have chosen you, Hank Anderson.”

Hank feels anxiety and anticipation building in his stomach, realizing they are finally getting close to the point of this entire interaction. He braces himself, but is still unprepared for her task.

“I’ll need you to go back and face four people,” Amanda starts, “but they are not ordinary people. They are special. Just like you. Only in a slightly different way...” she stops and walks forward, toward the candles, and Hank has no choice but to follow her, so he can continue to hear her story. But there’s something he can’t wrap his head around.

“Okay. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not exactly on top of my game. I’m a fuckin’ failure, why would you want _me_ to help you?” he questions. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll fuck up… whatever it is you want me to do?” Hank turns around and walks back toward the entry hall, but doesn’t leave the room. He can’t face her to voice his next thought. “Most days...” he starts quietly, a bit choked up. “Most days it’s a struggle just to get out of bed.” He pauses, chews on his lip. “I don’t see the point in anything, and I haven’t for a long fuckin’ time.” He looks down and scuffs his shoe against the dirty wood floor. “I just wanna disappear. That’s all I wanted, and I couldn’t even do that right.”

Amanda doesn’t say anything, just turns to look at his back and allows him to continue. The weight of his confession hangs heavy in his chest.

“And you know,” he continues, “I hate everyone else because they know how to be happy. Every fuckin’ place I look, I see happy people. People with a reason to live. Or…..” his eyes go dark, thinking back to some of the cases he’s had to work over his years as a cop, “people so pitiful they make me ashamed to be alive.”

He turns then, and meets her eyes. “And I don’t want anything to do with any of them. There’s no one back there waiting for me, no _reason_ for me to go back. I’m alone, and I just wanna vanish.” Amanda senses he is finished with his rant and walks closer to him.

“And this is exactly why I chose you, Hank Anderson.” Hank stares at her blankly. “I know how you feel,” she continues, “because I felt that way myself for a very long time. You and I….. are very much alike.” Amanda folds her arms over her chest and looks directly at him. “And if you succeed…. You will never feel broken again.”

Hank still isn’t sold, though. “And what the fuck have I said that gives you the impression that I wanna go back? I finally did it! I killed myself. That’s all I ever wanted, but it turns out this is just another thing to fuck up. I just… I don’t wanna suffer anymore.”

Amanda goes very quiet, and walks back across the room, away from Hank. “Dear, dear Hank...” she starts, gently. “You don’t realize… that the suffering _never_ stops, do you ? It only gets worse.”  Hank takes exactly zero comfort in her words, and he knows that was the point.

“This place,” she continues, “is the passage between the world of the living and the world of the dead. You enter one of these corridors and you _never_ come back. But you don’t cease to exist. You remain.” Hank had sort of figured this by now, but hearing the words straight from Amanda’s mouth makes it more real, and makes it more devastating, knowing that he won’t be able to just… _stop_ existing. So, resigned, he takes a breath and asks the question he knows she’s been waiting for.

“So. These four people. Who are they? What’s their deal?” Amanda’s back is still to him, but he can just tell that she’s pleased that he seems to finally be coming around.

“I call them ‘Parasites.’” she starts quickly, clearly not wanting him to interrupt. “They don’t know each other, but their destinies are bound together. You will have to be constantly on your guard, keep your eyes open. Although, I suppose for you, _Lieutenant_ , that’s not too much of a request.” Hank can practically feel her smirking.

“Uh-huh,” he says, ignoring her jab at his profession and waiting to hear the rest.

“They will want to get close to you...” Amanda continues after a beat. “They may even pretend they are your friends. But don’t let them fool you! They have nothing but cruel intentions.”

Hank doesn’t bring up that this description could also, reasonably, be applied to Amanda herself. He really doesn’t have any reason to trust her, or her intentions.

“They will want to hurt you, Hank,” Amanda continues. “They’ll want to kill you… as harmless as they can seem, Parasites are actually the scum of the earth… and they all deserve to die.”

Hank snorts. “Isn’t my life bad enough as it is without all these shitheads?”

“Don’t be frightened,” Amanda chides.

“That’s not-”

“You will have a great advantage over them,” Amanda charges on ahead, completely cutting Hank off. “They wont _know_ that _you_ know. Do you understand what that means?”

Hank doesn’t say anything, deciding he might as well just let her finish.

“You will become… my hunter. Serving punishment for their sins.”

“Now wait just a second-” Hank starts, but once again gets talked over. Amanda whirls back around to face him, enthusiasm growing.

“A tool of destruction. A dark angel walking through a river of blood. You’ll find your purpose, and you’ll see, for the first time, just how satisfying life can be.”

Hank doesn’t even know where to start. “Okay, lady, look, even if I _did_ wanna do your dirty work, how would I even recognize these so-called ‘Parasites?’ How am I supposed to know who the fuck I’m looking for?”

“Well,” says Amanda, unkindly, “There aren’t a lot of people in your lonely life, are there, Hank?” Hank flinches. Yeah, fair enough. “You will know them when you see them.” she says with certainty.

“Bring those deceitful bastards to me and we will make them pay for everything they’ve done.” says Amanda seriously. Hank kind of can’t believe he’s even having this conversation right now.

“Listen,” says Hank, just as seriously. “I’m a cop. Are you expecting me to… kill them?” The direction this conversation seems to be going is unsettling him. Amanda smiles.

“I am expecting you to fight for your survival.” says Amanda, still serious. “You must do everything to defend yourself.” Hank snorts.

“Self defense. Right.” he says with a roll of his eyes.

“I know you’re not a murderer, Hank.” purrs Amanda. “Quite the opposite, in fact. You’re a very good person. However, I also know that you don’t want to suffer. And these people will want to cause you pain. They won’t hesitate.” Hank stares at her, unnerved. “In the end, you might not even have a choice...” she trails off.

“Think of it as gardening!” she begins again. “If there were weeds among the roses, you would pull them out, wouldn’t you? You would get rid of them without thinking twice.” Hank has never been much of a gardener, but he understands her analogy nonetheless.

“I guess I see your point,” he says, still unsure.

“I’m so glad,” says Amanda. “And you must remember this. You are not their only victim. If you don’t stop them, they will continue to harm more innocent people. You have the opportunity to make a real difference! And,” she says, building up, “you will have a chance to save yourself.”

Her words hit Hank all at once, and he shakes his head violently. “I… I can’t do this! It’s too much! How can you possibly expect _me_ to just… what? Become some sort of vigilante? I might be the world’s shittiest cop, but we kinda frown upon this sort of thing, you know?” He turns away from her and stalks forward. Amanda finally turns around as well and gets in front of him to look him right in the eyes.

“Indeed. You are… weak.”

“Hey, I wouldn’t say that-”

“This is why I have prepared a special gift for you.” Amanda continues, as if Hank hadn’t even spoken. She pauses dramatically. Hank will be damned, more so than he probably already is, if he breaks first and asks her to continue. She sighs but relents. “Immortality!” she proclaims. “You cannot die, Hank. You will always return to life, no matter what happens to you.”

Hank is silent for a full ten seconds before exploding. “Listen, Maggot Queen, or whatever the fuck your name is,” he begins angrily. “That is _actually_ the exact opposite of what I want! Can’t you just cut me a fuckin’ break and let me die?”

Amanda shakes her head. “I’ve made my decision, Hank. As long as _they_ are alive, you cannot die.”

Hank sputters. “You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me. That’s bullshit, that’s fuckin’… blackmail! You can’t do that to me!”

Amanda ignores his anger and walks forward. She gestures to the dark doorway, framed by curtains on the wall in front of them. “Do you see this door, Hank?”

Hank scoffs. “Clearly. I’m not blind.”

“Lets go inside,” she says, ignoring his attitude and guiding him firmly through the foreboding hallway. Somehow, they are now back in the wheat field. Hank feels irrationally calmer at this, just being in a somewhat familiar setting. “I want to show you something that will help you make up your mind.” Instantly, any sense of security Hank felt evaporates. Amanda leads him through the gently swaying wheat. Hank has a feeling that he doesn’t want to see what’s coming next, and of course, he isn’t wrong.

Amanda leads him into a familiar looking room, and Hank’s heart sinks. It’s the spare bedroom at his apartment, the one he keeps closed up tight. In the middle of the room is a large cross, with yet another one of Hank’s corpses crucified on it. A crowbar juts awkwardly out of the side of the cross. The room is filled with wheat, up to their knees, that languidly sways back and forth. A crow sits perched on the crucifix, cawing loudly. Hank idly wonders if its the same crow from earlier, and then wonders why he keeps wondering all this pointless shit.

The breeze seems to grow angrier, howling through the room and making the wheat stalks dance wildly. “Yes...” murmurs Amanda. “That’s you Hank,” she says, gesturing to the emaciated corpse on the cross. This dead Hank doesn’t look nearly as serene as the other bodies he’s come across, eyes dark and face sunken. “Come closer,” coos Amanda. “Say hello.”

Hank shakes his head. “No fuckin’ way. I don’t wanna look at that shit. Haven’t I been through enough today?” He takes a breath, noticing that he is trembling. “I already dealt with that body in the ambulance, and then the one in the forest… But this… this is _exactly_ what I was trying to escape. I _don’t_ want to be _here_!”

Amanda remains calm, completely unaffected by the disturbing scene in front of them. “I thought it would be wise to give you a… taste of the suffering you would have to endure. And,” she turns to look at the cross, “I want you to understand that you can keep going long after you can’t.”

“That doesn’t even make sense...” Hank mutters, deciding he would rather be angry than scared. He walks forward and yanks the crowbar out of the crucifix, half tempted to just whack Amanda with it. He decides he wouldn’t actually dare. She does, after all, frighten him quite a bit. Holding the crowbar loosely in his hand, he turns to look at the woman.

Their eyes lock again. “It’s time to make a decision, Hank.” A sudden crash of thunder and a flash of lightning makes Hank jump. The crucified Hank vanishes, cross and all. “The Parasites are coming whether you’re ready or not. You don’t really have much of a choice.” Amanda says, leaving little room for argument.

Hank glares at her, but has to try and get the last word. “I don’t take orders from anybody. I’m doing this my way.”

Amanda looks annoyed, and seems to be losing her patience. “Hank, don’t you understand?! There _is no other way!_ ”

Hank is unnerved, but he’s not backing down. “Look. I really don’t like what you’re saying. I’m not a murderer and I don’t wanna be.” Amanda stares at him, incredulous. “Besides, how do I know you’re even telling me the truth?” He takes another moment to gather his thoughts. “Don’t get me wrong. I appreciate you giving me another chance or whatever. I think… I think I’ve realized now that I’ve made a mistake and that I need to get my shit together. But I really don’t like what you’re saying. So I’ll figure out a way to do it without killing anyone.”

“Hank-” Amanda starts angrily, but he’s not done yet.

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned in this shitty life, it’s that you can’t rely on anyone but yourself. And if I can’t rely on myself, then I’ve got no one.”

Amanda’s eyes have gone stormy. She stalks forward, closer to Hank.

“You _fool!”_ she shouts. “You damn, arrogant, fool! You have _no idea_ what you’ve just done!” she takes a breath, and forces herself to calm down. “But, fine. Have it your way.”

Hank feels like he’s getting whiplash from her constantly changing moods. “But remember,” she continues, ominously. “In the end, I will be the one laughing at you. I _always_ am.”

Hank exhales through his nose. “Who the fuck are _you_ to push me around, anyway? As far as I know, you’re just some… crazy old lady!”

Amanda clenches a fist. “You will eat those words, Anderson.”

“Yeah well, maybe I will,” says Hank, putting on a sarcastic front. “But I really don’t give a fuck. Just leave me alone.”

“You will regret this,” Amanda says, threateningly, and in an instant Hank is back in the candle hall, alone. He blinks, trying to reorient himself.

“Whatever.” he mutters to himself. “I’ll figure out what to do on my own. I don’t fuckin’ need her,” he tries to convince himself as he stalks out of the room to the front of the house. However, as he heads for the front door, he finds his way completely blocked by a squirming wall of maggots.

“Fuck!” Hank exclaims, disgusted. He turns back around and reenters the candle hall, trying to figure out what to do. He really doesn’t want to go into that dark hallway again, so he creeps forward and gazes at the candles, almost hypnotized by their flickering flames. Without much more thought, he blows one out, watching as the flame dies.

 

* * *

 

Somewhere, far away, completely unbeknownst to Hank, a man hangs himself in an empty classroom.


	5. interlude I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> previously: _He turns back around and reenters the candle hall, trying to figure out what to do. He really doesn’t want to go into that dark hallway again, so he creeps forward and gazes at the candles, almost hypnotized by their flickering flames. Without much more thought, he blows one out, watching as the flame dies._
> 
> _\---_
> 
> _Somewhere, far away, completely unbeknownst to Hank, a man hangs himself in an empty classroom._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, ive got a few of these rly short bits of transition that don't rly deserve to be called 'chapters' but also dont fit in with other chapters so. im callin them interludes lol. okay. some blood and gore in this one.

After blowing out the candle, Hank cautiously makes his way back toward the front door. To his relief, the maggots are gone, and he can walk out unimpeded. As he exits, he sees that he has somehow ended up in the clearing again, where he first encountered his own hanging corpse. He grunts, annoyed.

“What the fuck,” he grumbles, “How am I back here again?” He stomps past his dead body still laying on the ground from when he cut it down, and continues forward, desperate to get out of here. His journey back through the forest seems to take him no time at all, and before he knows it he’s back at the little shack, staring at the tattered flag, still fluttering in the breeze. He reaches into his pocket and takes out the key he took from the hanging corpse’s neck and jams it into the rusty padlock. It opens easily and he lets it drop to the ground, flinging the door open. He thinks he likes this spiteful feeling, doing things with anger makes them feel more efficient right now.

Inside the shack is dark and dreary. The majority of the room is taken up by a strange sort of machine. It’s old and sinister, and it’s rusty but also looks as though it’s been recently used. There is a sign posted by the machine, and Hank bends to get a closer look. “Too long a sacrifice can make a stone of the heart,” he reads out loud.

_What the fuck does that even mean?_ He thinks, staring blankly at the machine for a moment before continuing his investigation. 

Hank also notes there doesn’t seem to be a single switch or button on the machine. Odd. There is, however, a hole in the wall covered with some planks of wood. Glancing at the crowbar he still holds in his hand, he wastes no time prying off the boards and peering inside. At the end of a long, narrow hole is a red button. The hole is just big enough for him to reach his arm into. He scoffs. “Yeah, like I’m really gonna stick my arm into a mystery hole. How fuckin’ stupid do you think I am?” he asks no one. However, a further examination of the room turns up a whole lot of nothing, and when he tries to exit the shack and look for another solution, he finds the door he entered through is locked and won’t budge.

“Fuck!” he shouts, slamming a fist on the door, at his wits end. Irritated, he stomps back to the hole in the wall, unable to believe he’s really going to go against every instinct he has and jam his arm in there. “Well,” he sighs, “Here goes nothing.” Cautiously, he reaches his arm inside. He hesitates, but he knows he’s run out of options. Exhaling, he depresses the button.

Instantly, a blade slams down like a guillotine, completely severing his arm from his body.

He knew something bad was going to happen, but he wasn’t expecting anything quite to this degree. Blood pours freely from his wound. He stares at his shoulder, not quite able to process that there is nothing attached to it anymore. “Oh fuck, fuck fuck fuck...” he swears, holding onto the bloody stump and walking frantically around the room, looking for something to help. The front door is still locked, and as he blunders wildly about his blood drips onto the machine. The rusty gears start turning, and the front door swings open.

He hurries out, still clutching his shoulder, but instead of exiting the house, the front door now leads to a long, narrow stone corridor. It’s dark, and Hank feels like he’s going to pass out, but he forces himself to keep going. He sees a light at the end of the tunnel, and if he wasn’t busy worrying about bleeding out, he would have thought that was some kind of irony. He walks sluggishly toward the light, and when he reaches it, he’s relieved to find that there is _finally_ nothing more.


	6. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> previously: _He hurries out, still clutching his shoulder, but instead of exiting the house, the front door now leads to a long, narrow stone corridor. It’s dark, and Hank feels like he’s going to pass out, but he forces himself to keep going. He sees a light at the end of the tunnel, and if he wasn’t busy worrying about bleeding out, he would have thought that was some kind of irony. He walks sluggishly toward the light, and when he reaches it, he’s relieved to find that there is finally nothing more._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY okay back at it. thanks so much for all the comments and the kudos, it rly meant a lot to me and boosted my confidence haha. so, here are a few more chapters. still no connor, im sorry. well, not in person or mentioned by name, anyway. soon.
> 
> some hospital stuff, horror stuff, and discussions of suicide in this one

Hank comes to again in a hospital bed, an oxygen mask strapped to his face. _What the fuck…_ he thinks, as a tall nurse turns to call for a doctor, but one is already brushing past him, heading towards Hank’s bed.

“Good evening!” starts the doctor, cheerfully. “It’s good to see you’re awake at last. You’re in the Detroit Hospital. My name is Chris. I’m one of the doctors. Would you confirm your name for me, please?” he asks pleasantly.

Hank’s head feels fuzzy, and he can’t even find the energy to do anything besides what he’s told. “Hank,” he murmurs. “Hank Anderson.”

“Hello Mr. Anderson,” Doctor Chris smiles. “I’m glad to see you’re alright. You’re on the ward now, and your condition is stable. It looks like everything is functioning just fine, and there is no lasting damage. Your internal organs are all fine, too,” the doctor continues, seeming impressed. “You’re a very lucky man, Mr. Anderson.” Hank’s not so sure about that. “You will probably feel tired and lethargic for the next few days, but that will pass. You should get plenty of rest. The nurses on this ward will take it from here, I’ll send one in.” Hank opens his mouth, but the doctor cuts him off. “Please, don’t try to speak.”

“My arm...” Hank rasps out. The doctor looks at him, confused.

“Don’t… don’t worry about your arm, Mr. Anderson. It’s perfectly fine.”

“But...” Hank starts.

“There was nothing wrong with your arm, sir, I promise,” the doctor tells him, already heading out of the room, not even acknowledging the nurse waiting quietly to the side. Hank shuts his mouth and furrows his brows in confusion at the doctor’s retreating back. The tall nurse makes his way towards Hank.

“Would you like some water?” he asks in a low, gentle voice, seemingly at odds with his large stature. _I think he might even be bigger than me,_ Hank thinks, apropos of nothing. Without waiting for an answer, the nurse leaves the room. Hank gets a few moments alone, and tries to process exactly what’s happening. _So,_ he thinks, _was it all a dream after all?_ But it had felt so real…

The nurse quietly enters the room again, carrying a glass of water. Hank gratefully accepts it. He suddenly feels parched.

“My name is Luther, by the way,” the nurse says. “If you need anything, just let me know.”

“Thanks,” mutters Hank, looking away. Luther pauses for a minute, seeming to be mulling something over. Hank has a feeling he knows what's coming, but it still is hard to hear.

“I just… I wanted to say, Mr. Anderson. You’re so lucky.” Hank grits his teeth. “You, doing what you did, and him, coming home at just the right time? Well. That was a one in a million chance.” Hank turns his gaze to Luther, completely lost.

“What-?” he starts to ask, but Luther is already heading for the door.

“I’ve got to go,” the tall man informs him. “But I just wanted to tell you, you’re really lucky. And… I hope that you’ve changed your mind about… well, some things.”

“Wait-” Hank tries again, but Luther has walked quickly out the door, no doubt on his way to look after another patient. Hank doesn’t have much time to mull over what he just heard, feeling sleep already beckoning to him again. He doesn’t fight it.

 

* * *

 

In his dream, the light above his hospital bed turns on by itself, and burns him to a crisp.

 

* * *

 

He awakens again with a gasp, hands running madly over his arms, trying to ascertain if he’s actually burnt. To his relief, he seems to be fine. He doesn’t get much of a chance to calm down before he is startled again, this time by a figure sitting at the end of his bed. His panic is short lived when he realizes it’s the nurse, Luther.

“Bad dream, Mr. Anderson?” Luther asks gently.

Hank groans. “Oh, I don’t know, just a dream like any other, I guess.”

Luther seems relieved. “That’s good!” he replies. “I almost woke you up, you were tossing and turning and all that. I thought you were having a horrible nightmare.” Hank doesn’t respond. Luther doesn’t seem to know how to continue the conversation, but plows ahead regardless. “I get nightmares, sometimes...” he trails off, awkwardly. Hank doesn’t know what to say. “Sometimes...” Luther says, hesitating. “Sometimes, I dream I’m falling. Off the top of a large building. Those dreams are strange, though. I think… I think I like them.”

Hank glances at him. “Yeah, guess I can relate to that,” he admits reluctantly. The two men sit in an awkward silence for a few moments. Hank figures he might as well ask the question that’s nagging at him.

“So, Luther,” he begins. Luther looks to him expectantly. “What the fuck happened to me?” Luther seems surprised by his blunt and vulgar language, but also looks like he appreciates it, if his small grin is anything to go by.

“Well, Mr. Anderson,” he replies. “What exactly do you remember?”

Hank sighs. “I took some pills… and drank some whiskey...” Hank starts, “and then I fell asleep in the chair. The room was all fuckin’ fuzzy, and it felt like it was spinning. I felt calm, though. Ain’t that sad?”

Luther gives him a small, sympathetic smile. “Things can be very difficult sometimes. What else do you remember?” Hank debates telling him about the wheat field and Amanda, then promptly decides he doesn’t want to give them any more of a reason to keep him here.

“I woke up and I was here,” he finishes decisively. “Can you tell me how the fuck I even ended up here?”

Luther nods. “Well, you were in a coma when they brought you in. You were lucky he came home early and found you, I think I told you that already-” Hank cuts him off.

“What are you talking about? _Who_ came home early? I live alone.” He feels like he is missing something, like Luther is talking about something but Hank only has half of the necessary information. The nurse looks at him, confused.

“Your husband, of course!” Luther answers him. “He called the ambulance. If it wasn’t for him, you’d be dead for sure.”

“Excuse me,” Hank says slowly. “My… husband? Is that what you said?”

“Well, yes, why?” asks the nurse. “You look a little pale, are you alright, sir?” Luther sounds a bit worried.

“I don’t... I don’t have a husband. Whoever he is, he lied.” Hank tells him, meeting the other man’s gaze, terribly confused. Luther tilts his head in question.

“Why would he do that?” the nurse asks, equally confused.

“How should I know?” Hank says, rather unkindly. “I was in a fuckin’ coma, apparently.”

Luther frowns slightly. “Well, he might have lied, but that doesn’t change the fact that he saved your life.”

Hank bristles. “I was totally fuckin’ fine. I didn’t ask for anybody’s help!” Hank snaps, and then immediately feels bad for it. “Shit, sorry.” he mutters, looking down at his lap.

Luther gives him a gentle smile. “It’s okay, Mr. Anderson. I’m sure it's been a trying few days.”

Hank snorts. “Yeah, you don’t even know the half of it,” he agrees. Still, he can’t let this go. “So...” he begins, “did you see this so called ‘husband’ of mine?”

“No, I didn’t, I’m sorry Mr. Anderson,” answers Luther. Hank can’t hide that he’s disappointed, he really wants to know more about this stranger, the investigator in him dying for more information. “Apparently, though,” Luther continues, seeming to want to give him something, “he rode in the ambulance with you. But then he remembered something and had to go? Someone mentioned he left in quite a hurry.”

Hank frowned. “Of course he did. Naturally, if your husband tries to kill himself you bolt from the hospital the second you get the chance,” he says, sarcastically. “But, I guess he was probably worried I’d ask him what the fuck he was doing in my apartment to begin with.”

“Er…” starts Luther. “Saving your life, I’d imagine?”

“Yeah, alright,” Hank shoots back, “but do I really have to give him the benefit of the doubt for that? He still broke in.”

Luther frowns. “I mean, I would?” he says, the end of his sentence pitching up like a question. “That man is a hero! Maybe he wanted to leave before his identity was revealed. Maybe that’s what real heroes do.”

Hank snorts. “Or, he was a fuckin’ burglar and he was tryin’ to steal my shit.” Luther mulls that over.

“Yes, I suppose that is also a viable option.” They’re both quiet for a few moments, until Hank breaks the silence again.

“Listen. When do I get to leave this joint?” he’s already eager to get home, take a shower and put on some fresh clothes, maybe even trim his beard if he’s feeling particularly adventurous. Luther frowns in thought.

“I’m really not sure, it’s not up to me. Probably not anymore today, perhaps tomorrow?” he says, uncertain. Hank nods, annoyed but not surprised. Luther looks like he wants to say something more.

“Spit it out,” says Hank. Luther gives him a guilty grin at being caught.

“Well, Hank, I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but you seem like a good person, so I feel like I should warn you.” The use of Hank’s first name really gets his attention, as the tall nurse had only been calling him ‘Mr. Anderson’ up until now. He leans forward slightly in his bed. “There’s this doctor here...” Luther starts. “They call him Doctor Z.” Hank snorts.

“Doctor Z?” he repeats, almost tempted to laugh. “Really?” Luther rolls his eyes good-naturedly.

“Yeah yeah, I know,” the nurse agrees with him. “But he’s the chief of psychiatry in this hospital. You won’t be able to leave until he approves it.” Hank frowns, deciding to take this a little more seriously. “He’s… really good at getting into your head. He’ll ask you a lot of tricky questions.” Hank blinks.

“Well, isn’t that what he’s supposed to do?” he asks, nonplussed.

“Yeah,” Luther agrees, “but it’s… more than that. I can’t really explain it. But just… be careful with what you tell him, alright?” Hank nods, glad to have the warning.

“What else can you tell me about this ‘Dr. Z’ character,” Hank asks, wanting to be prepared for their inevitable meeting.

“Well,” starts Luther. “His name is actually Zlatko Andronikav, but everyone just calls him doctor Z.”

Hank snorts. “Can’t imagine why that would be.” Luther shoots him a look before continuing.

“He’s on this floor pretty often, usually at night. You hear… all sorts of stories in places like this. I don’t really know what to believe.”

Hank frowns. “What kind of stories?”

Luther looks like he’s a bit reluctant to continue, but he does. “Well, you know. They say he’s a big flirt. I heard he’s had affairs with more than one of the girls around here.” Hank makes a face. “And there was this one girl, she’s not here anymore, but everyone said Dr. Z knocked her up and the hospital fired her to cover it up.” Luther bounces his leg anxiously. “I don’t know if that’s true, though. But it does make you wonder.” Hank agrees. All the evidence is circumstantial, but strong despite that.

“He sounds like a real creep,” Hank concludes. Luther glances around the room, as if checking that Dr. Z hasn’t suddenly appeared, then nods.

Hank tries, and fails, to hide a yawn.  He’s starting to feel drowsy again, his eyelids drooping.

“I’ll let you rest now, Mr. Anderson,” says Luther, standing. He pauses, and turns to look at Hank one last time. “Be careful who you trust here, Hank. They will be watching you.” Hank feels his stomach drop.

“How do I know you’re not one of ‘them’?” he asks with trepidation.

Luther pauses. “You don’t,” he answers, before quietly leaving the room. Hank sighs, not comforted, as his eyes slide closed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the cat lady: susan ur daughter brought u to the hospital
> 
> me: HELL NO NOT IN MY HOUSE


	7. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> previously: _“I’ll let you rest now, Mr. Anderson,” says Luther, standing. He pauses, and turns to look at Hank one last time. “Be careful who you trust here, Hank. They will be watching you.” Hank feels his stomach drop._
> 
> _“How do I know you’re not one of ‘them’?” he asks with trepidation._
> 
> _Luther pauses. “You don’t,” he answers, before quietly leaving the room. Hank sighs, not comforted, as his eyes slide closed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trying to fit the logic puzzles organically into the narrative is. Not Easy lol. hope its not too awkward

Hank isn’t sure how long he sleeps this time, but when he wakes up he feels re-energized and is thrumming with a desperate need to get out of this hospital. He climbs out of his bed and examines the room he’s in. It’s a pretty typical hospital room, but at least he’s by himself. He doesn’t think he could handle having a roommate at the moment.

He wanders over to the sink and idly turns the faucets on and off. He takes a handful of the rubber gloves from a box affixed to the wall, not really sure why, in his newly awakened state it feels like the right thing to do. With a shrug he shoves them into the pocket of his hospital gown, and decides to leave his room and see what else there is to discover.

As he exits, he notices his medical chart on a clipboard affixed to the wall. Curiously, he takes it and looks it over, and is surprised by the amount of sedatives they have him on. _More than enough to knock out a horse_ , he thinks, even someone with his lack of medical knowledge would know that. Resolving to ask the doctor about it the next time he sees him, he puts the chart back.

His attention is then immediately drawn to a table with a flower arrangement sitting on top of it, the roses a startling pop of color in the dreary hall. He takes an unconscious step back. He doesn’t like flowers. Not since… he shakes his head, scattering those thoughts, not wanting to get caught up in them right now.

He heads to his left, toward the end of the hall, where a bathroom is located. He tries the door but finds it locked. Glad he didn’t actually have to use the facilities, he gives another shrug and turns back the other way. The room next to his has a drug chart in front of it as well, and he figures he might as well be nosy and picks it up to peruse through.

His neighbor is called Leo Manfred, and he seems to be on a similar amount of sedatives. He has a long history with drug abuse, and, apparently, checked himself in willingly. Hank shudders to think about how bad it would have to get for him to want to be in this place willingly. On top of all that, it seems this Leo is also taking methadone to help with heroin withdrawal. _Jesus, this kid’s got some issues,_ Hank thinks, although he supposes he isn’t really one to talk. He puts back Leo’s chart and continues his exploration of the hall, coming to a nurses’ station. A bored looking nurse with long auburn hair in a braid sits there, looking at some charts in front of her.

“Hey, so,” Hank starts, and she looks up at him with barely concealed disinterest. “I’d like to go home now, if you don’t mind.”

The nurse puts her chart aside. “So would I, man,” she says, and Hank can already tell she’s going to be unhelpful. Fantastic. “But, there are procedures we gotta follow, I can’t just let you waltz out of here.”

Hank grunts in annoyance. “Okay, well, what do I have to do to speed this process along Miss...” he glances at her name tag. “North?”

The nurse, North, rolls her eyes. “Look,” she says testily, “I’m very busy right now-”

“Oh yeah it looks like it,” Hank interjects sarcastically.

North looks at him with annoyance. “I’m very busy,” she continues, louder than before. “I’ll come and talk to you in a bit, okay?”

Hank huffs, but relents and moves away from her. He notices a discharge letter sitting on the desk. He can just make out Leo Manfred’s name at the top and reaches for it, but North sees him. An annoyed sigh. “Please don’t touch those, they’re confidential.”

Hank rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure. Maybe you shouldn’t leave them sitting out in the open where anyone could read them, then?” He’s not really sure if at this point they are seriously antagonizing each other or are borderline joking. She doesn’t seem too sure either but he decides he likes her, if for no other reason then she seems authentic in her disdain.

She groans. “If you want something to read, I have a bunch of magazines here somewhere...” she trails off as she starts rummaging through the desk drawers.

“Thanks, but I’ll pass,” says Hank, already walking away. Further down the hall looks like it leads to the exit, but, to Hank’s dismay, there are two security guards stationed in the doorway. He saunters up to them, trying to look confident.

“Alright fellas, how about you move out of the way so I can get out of here?” one of the guards lowers his sunglasses and looks at him.

“Can I see your discharge letter?” he asks, bored.

Hank huffs. Of course this won’t be easy. “You’re really just gonna keep me here against my will?” He knows they’re just doing their jobs, but he has already decided he doesn’t like them. The other guard looks at him.

“If you don’t have a discharge letter, we can’t let you out,” he says simply. “Can I ask what your name is?”

Hank scowls. “No. I’ll come back later,” he tells them and turns around, walking back the way he came with no small amount of annoyance.

“Please do, sir,” says the first guard, sarcastically. “We’ll be right here.” Hank resists the urge to flip them off on his way out. He stalks back past the nurses station and glances at North, who gives him a lazy salute, which makes him scowl again, and he swears he hears her laugh a little to herself. He needs to find a way to get her away from that desk so he can steal that discharge letter.

As he makes his way back to his room, the door to the bathroom at the end of the corridor opens, and a young man steps out. His eyes look vacant and he’s swaying slightly where he stands. Hank approaches him, a bit concerned.

“Hey, man. Are you alright?” he asks, unsure if he should reach out and steady the other man. “Can we talk for a minute?” Hank asks him.

The man’s eyes flit from side to side. “I can’t talk right now,” he answers, sounding nervous. “Please, leave me alone.”

Hank backs away from him slightly, holding his palms up in a placating gesture. “I’m not gonna hurt you or anything. I’m trapped here, like you are.”

“Trapped?” the other man says. “No… I don’t think I’m trapped… but it’s so hard to think… without it...” his eyes go wide. “But you’re a stranger! And you’re not a nurse, either, are you?” he glances to the side, and his tone suddenly turns wistful. “They look after me so good, you know. I trust them. Like I trusted my dad...”

Hank speaks gently. “Okay, okay, I just want to talk for a sec. I need your help.”

The man doesn’t seem to even be hearing Hank. “Or did my dad send you? Please tell me he did...”

Hank weighs his options, and decides to take the risk. “Yeah, sure buddy. Your dad sent me. We’re real close pals.”

The man seems delighted by this, but that quickly turns to suspicion. “I miss him a lot, you know. I just wanted him to be proud of me… but I don’t remember you at all!” he accuses.

_Shit,_ Hank thinks.

“If you’re really my dad’s friend,” the younger man says, pointing vaguely at Hank, “then you’ll know the answer to this question.” He pauses. “What… is my dad’s name?”

_SHIT!_ Hank thinks again. He looks around, desperate for something to help him, but, of course comes up with nothing. He pulls a name out of his ass.

“Uhhhhh. Ben?” he says, wishing at the last moment he didn’t make it sound like a question.

The man frowns at Hank. “I knew you were lying! Leave me alone, just leave me alone, man,” he says, and Hank thinks it wise to listen to him.

“Yeah, sure, okay, sorry,” Hank mutters quickly, making a beeline away from the erratic man and heading for the bathroom now that it’s free. He shuts himself in and locks the door. The bathroom is, unsurprisingly, pretty gross and rundown. The trashcan overflows with discarded paper towels and disposable medicine cups. Hank looks at it and decides to add one to the collection of gloves in his pocket. He tries not to think about how unsanitary it is.

There’s a notice on the wall, and he turns to read it. ‘Please stop writing messages on the mirror. We are currently experiencing difficulty maintaining cleanliness standards due to the sudden absence of our cleaning staff.’ Hank huffs out a laugh. Yeah, well, if he was a custodian at this shitty hospital he’d probably have a ‘sudden absence’ too.

The mirror above the sink has a large crack in it, and a shard of glass lays on the floor. Hank looks at it, weighing his options. If they find it on him, they’ll definitely make him stay longer. But, he has a weird feeling about this place, and thinks it might be handy. He adds it to his growing collection of junk. Suddenly, he hatches a plan.

He needs to get that nurse, North, away from her station so he can have a chance at stealing that discharge letter. It might be his only way to get out of here in a timely manner, and he’s really starting to worry about his dog. He opens the toilet lid and shoves the handful of rubber gloves he stole earlier into it. When he tries to flush it, it clogs and overflows. Satisfied with his handiwork, he presses the call button and waits.

The door unlocks from the outside and North blusters in, looking annoyed. Hank doesn’t like the implication that the nurses can get into any of the locked rooms, even though he knows it makes sense. She meets his eyes with her own, looking exasperated. Hank gestures to the overflowing toilet.

“I don’t know what’s going on, it was like that when I came in,” he tells her, trying to sound innocent. He can tell she doesn’t buy it, but she sighs and goes to see if she can fix it.

“Ugh!” Hank hears her groan. “It’s the fucking gloves. Again.”

Hank really wonders what goes on at this hospital that makes this a regular occurrence but he ducks out of the bathroom and leaves her to sort it out. He wastes no time booking it back to the now empty nurses’ station and grabs the discharge letter that North, unsurprisingly, didn’t move. Feeling pretty proud of himself, he heads down the hall to rub the letter in those smug security guards’ faces.

“Alright guys, I got the fuckin’ letter!” he says by way of greeting. They both glance at him.

“Great,” says the first one. “Now all we need is some ID to verify that you are, in fact, who this says you are.”

Hank groans. “You gotta be kidding me. Where am I supposed to get ID? I’m in the hospital, you guys took all my shit!”

The second security guard pushes himself out of his slouch against the wall. “Your medical bracelet will suffice,” he tells him. _Fuck,_ Hank thinks. _More hoops to jump through._

“Oh, wouldn’t you know it, I left it back in my room,” Hank tells them. “I’ll just go get it and I’ll be right back.”

“You really should be wearing it at all times!” one of them calls after him. He, of course, ignores it.

On his way back, he runs into North. She looks disgruntled, and her hair sticks to her face slightly, as if she worked up a sweat trying to fix the toilet. He feels a little bad, right up until she says, “Okay, Mr. Anderson. My chart here says it’s time for your medication.”

Hank groans. “I don’t need that shit, there is no reason for me to be taking it.”

North shrugs. “Look, you have to take that up with the doctor. I’m just going by his orders.”

Hank isn’t sure if making a fuss will do him any any good, so he reluctantly accepts what she gives him. North smiles sarcastically as he takes it. “You should go back to your room now, Mr. Anderson. That’ll really help you relax and get a good night’s sleep!” she chirps.

Hank frowns, already starting to feel woozy. _Fuck_ , he thinks. _This is not going according to plan._ He lets North corral him back to his room, though, too out of it to protest. He vaguely remembers collapsing back onto his bed, and then things get even stranger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another chapter in a few minutes!!! and. come chat w me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/gaydeviants)


	8. interlude II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> previously: _Hank isn’t sure if making a fuss will do him any any good, so he reluctantly accepts what she gives him. North smiles sarcastically as he takes it. “You should go back to your room now, Mr. Anderson. That’ll really help you relax and get a good night’s sleep!” she chirps._
> 
> _Hank frowns, already starting to feel woozy. Fuck , he thinks. This is not going according to plan. He lets North corral him back to his room, though, too out of it to protest. He vaguely remembers collapsing back onto his bed, and then things get even stranger._

He’s back in the bathroom, now, but everything is moving very slowly. The bathroom itself looks different, too. Instead of one mirror, there are three. The letter ‘C’ is written in the fog on the first one, and the letter ‘L’ on the last one. The middle one is strangely blank, and no longer cracked. It looks like there is blood dripping from the vent on the wall. Hank’s confused, and he makes his way clumsily out of the room.

The hallway is no longer how he remembers it, either. It looks like the hospital has been abandoned for years, the doors are rusting and falling off their hinges. Broken medical equipment litters the corridor. He feels like he is walking through water as he forces himself forward. His own breathing sounds incredibly loud in his ears. The only other thing he can hear is a faint, rhythmic pulsing noise, coming from the direction of the nurses’ station. He makes a great effort to head towards the sound.

He rests his hands on the desk to steady himself, trying to take in what he’s seeing. It looks like a giant heart, hooked up to wires from the ceiling, pumping steadily. His brain is full of static as he examines the large organ, and without a second thought he takes out the shard of glass he’s been carrying around. Not sure what compels him, he steps forward and jabs the glass into the heart. The heart starts pumping more erratically, streaming blood from the wound.

As soon as the blood starts flowing, the screaming begins. It sounds like it’s coming from all around him, from every direction and every room in the hospital. That sends Hank into a panic for a second. But then he remembers what he was intending, and takes out the medicine cup to catch some of the red liquid that sprays from it. He nods to himself, satisfied with a job well done. It all seems very logical in the moment.

He makes his way back to his room, shoving the broken door aside. His bed is crooked, like one of the legs is broken. The windows are both shattered, and the sky outside looks… wrong. Technicolor swirls of color move in angry patterns, looking like a storm, but unnatural. Threatening. Hank really couldn’t care any less though, because right now his bed looks like the most inviting thing he’s ever seen, and he promptly collapses onto it, falling asleep again.


	9. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> previously: _He makes his way back to his room, shoving the broken door aside. His bed is crooked, like one of the legs is broken. The windows are both shattered, and the sky outside looks… wrong. Technicolor swirls of color move in angry patterns, looking like a storm, but unnatural. Threatening. Hank really couldn’t care any less though, because right now his bed looks like the most inviting thing he’s ever seen, and he promptly collapses onto it, falling asleep again._

Hank wakes up (again?) feeling better, and also more determined than before to get out. He hoists himself out of bed and stumbles slightly, still feeling a bit woozy. _What the fuck do they have me taking?_ He thinks to himself. He makes his way out of his room and heads to the bathroom, planning to wash his face with the hopes that it will make him feel more alert. Locking the door behind him, he glances around. The bathroom is back to normal, just one mirror now. It’s broken. There is no blood dripping from the air vent. Hank shakes his head, unsure if that was all a drug-induced dream or something… more.

He turns on the warm water to wash his face. When he finishes, he glances up at the mirror, and notices some letters have appeared in the fog. ‘AR.’ He frowns. That’s gotta mean something… he racks his brain, trying to remember what he saw in the bathroom earlier. The other two mirrors… the first one had a ‘C’ and the third one had an ‘L’. “Carl...” he murmurs quietly, to himself. Still pondering this, he leaves the bathroom, and runs right into the man from earlier, exiting the room beside his. Suddenly, he realizes this must be Leo Manfred. And he has a hunch that ‘Carl’ has something to do with him. Hoping his investigative instincts are correct, he walks toward the man.

“So, Leo,” Hank begins. The young man looks at him, startled to be addressed by his name.

“Yes?” says Leo, suspiciously.

“I was talking to your dad, you know, Carl, the other day, and he said-”

Leo quickly cuts him off. “It’s true! You do know my dad!” he exclaims joyously, with surprise evident in his eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you earlier, man, my head’s just all messed up.”

Hank waves off his apology. “That’s okay, no worries. But, can we have a little chat?”

Leo nods, much more willing to talk now that he thinks Hank knows his dad. Hank will feel guilty about that later, right now he has a mission. He ponders his first question.

“Do you think this place seems… odd?” he asks the younger man.

Leo frowns at him. “I think it’s nice here,” he tells Hank. “We gotta stay here, we gotta take the pills. If I’m really good though… they give me the red stuff!”

Hank looks at him. “The… red stuff.” he repeats dumbly.

Leo gives him a look like he’s being deliberately obtuse. “The red stuff, man. It’s my favorite drug. It makes the pain go away.” Hank isn’t quite sure he understands. But then Leo says something that startles him. “On the other side of the mirror, there’s a spider’s heart,” the younger man tells him. “It’s full of the red stuff. But I can’t find it anymore.” Leo looks frustrated. Hank feels shaken.

“Listen,” Hank says lowly, moving closer to Leo. “How about I give you some of this red stuff. And in exchange, you give me your medical bracelet.” Hank’s not really sure what this red stuff is, and if he should be offering it to Leo, but he’s too desperate to get out now to feel guilty about it. Something is definitely not right in this hospital. His earlier experience may have happened in a dream, but he doesn’t believe for a minute that it was _only_ a dream.

Leo’s already got his medical bracelet off his wrist. He holds it out eagerly to Hank, desperate for his fix. Hank takes the medicine cup full of… red stuff… out of his pocket and the two make a quick exchange. Hank tries to play it cool but inside he is nearly giddy with the thought of finally getting out of this fucked up place. Leo holds his prize close, looking just as giddy as Hank feels.

“Thanks, Leo,” Hank says to him.

Leo nods, then pauses, his face suddenly shifting from excitement to something like fear. “Go. Now,” he tells Hank urgently. “And be careful. They’re watching us. They’re always watching us.”

Hank nods and walks away, unnerved. He looks over his shoulder one last time and sees Leo tip the cup of red stuff back, swallowing it all down in one gulp. He doesn’t watch any longer.

 

* * *

 

Hank hurries toward the exit as fast as he can without seeming suspicious. Once again, the security guards are waiting there. But, he’s prepared this time. He produces Leo’s discharge letter and hands it to them triumphantly. They barely even glance at it.

“Yeah, that seems to be in order,” the first guard says. “Now, just let me see your medical bracelet and we’ll have you on your way.”

Hank holds out his wrist. “Honestly didn’t think you fellas knew how to read, but here you go.” The guards scowl at him but Hank is impatient. “Can I go now?” he asks.

“Of course sir,” says the second guard, sounding insincerely polite. “Thank you so much. We’ll see you soon.”

Hank rolls his eyes. “I really fuckin’ doubt that,” he tells them, and stomps past them with as much dignity as he can muster while still in his hospital gown. He pauses for a moment, wondering how he’s going to get all his shit back, but decides he’d rather just get out of here first. He makes his way briskly down the hall, and as he sees the sign for the exit his heart pounds in excitement. However, just as he’s about to make a break for the door, a man appears, blocking the exit.

“Oh. You must be Hank Anderson!” the man says, staring at him. He’s large, with dark hair and a beard that seems to be going gray. He speaks with an accent that Hank thinks is probably Russian.

Hank folds his arms over his chest and adopts a defensive stance. “Well. Maybe I am. What’s it to you?” he demands, using his cop voice.

“Do you mind if I ask where you’re going?” the other man says, as if he knows Hank is up to no good.

“Well, actually, I do,” Hank tells him and tries to brush past. The man moves to block his path, and he hears footsteps behind him. Hank groans when he turns around and sees North, along with the two security guards. “Give it a rest, would ya? I’m not going anywhere. Clearly,” he tells her, gesturing to the scene in front of them.

“Mr. Anderson. Please calm down,” the stranger says. “I am Doctor Andronikov.” _Ah,_ thinks Hank, _the infamous Doctor Z. Not at all what I pictured from Luther’s description. How can this guy be such a ladies man?_

“There’s been a mistake, and you have been prescribed the wrong medication,” Doctor Z continues. “I sincerely apologize, I’m glad we managed to spot it on time.”

Hank glares. “On time?” he demands. “Do you have _any_ idea the shit I’ve been through since I got here?” He realizes after he said it that he probably shouldn’t actually tell him just what exactly he’s experienced.

“I apologize again,” Doctor Z insists, “and I can assure you, no more drugs will be given to you while you are in this hospital.” That calms Hank down a bit. “In fact,” he continues, “I can guarantee that you will have a peaceful sleep tonight and you will be able to go home in the morning.”

Hank groans, feeling exasperated. “Can’t you just let me go tonight? I got shit I gotta take care of at home, I got a dog waiting for me...”

Doctor Z shakes his head. “Forgive me, sir, but we cannot discharge… suicidal patients without a full psychiatric assessment,” he tells Hank. “It is too late to do it now, but I assure you, I will see you first thing in the morning, and then you will be free to go. Would that be sufficient?”

Hank looks at the doctor, and then behind him at North and the security guards. “Well, doesn’t look like I’ve got much of a choice, does it?” he fires back, bitterly. Sighing in defeat, Hank lets North lead him back to his room. He lays down in his bed and tries to will himself to sleep, hoping to make the time pass quicker. Although, if he had known what would be awaiting him next time he awoke, perhaps he would have tried to postpone it longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shockingly, the red stuff is. actually a thing from the cat lady and not just a weird red ice substitute. 
> 
>  
> 
> [twitter, as always](https://twitter.com/gaydeviants)


	10. chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> previously: _Sighing in defeat, Hank lets North lead him back to his room. He lays down in his bed and tries to will himself to sleep, hoping to make the time pass quicker. Although, if he had known what would be awaiting him next time he awoke, perhaps he would have tried to postpone it longer._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyooooooo. um character death n suicide in this one, tread carefully!

“Mr. Anderson! Mr. Anderson! Hank!” Hank’s eyes shoot open and he gasps, startled out of sleep by someone shaking his shoulder roughly. He looks around, ready to defend himself, but he calms down when he recognizes Luther, the kind nurse who had taken care of him earlier. However, as soon as he catches sight of Luther’s expression, he’s put on edge again.

“Luther?” he asks, still shaking off the last vestiges of sleep. “What’s going on?”

Luther’s eyes dart around frantically. “There’s no time, Hank, we gotta go. Now.”

Hank’s heart starts beating faster. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re not safe here!” Luther tells him, grabbing his arm to urge him into action.

Hank sputters. “What are you-”

Luther cuts him off. “I don’t have time to explain, I’m sorry,” he tells Hank, sounding nothing like the serene and unruffled man Hank met earlier. “I have to get you out of here. Follow me, quickly!”

Hank’s unnerved, but Luther is definitely the only person he trusts in this hospital, so he forces himself out of bed and gestures for the younger man to lead the way. Luther looks relieved that Hank doesn’t question him, and the two of them creep to the door to Hank’s room.

Luther opens the door and peers out, making sure the coast is clear. He beckons for Hank to follow him, and the two set off at a fast pace through the now abandoned ward. Hank isn’t sure what time it is, but it must be late at night, it’s dark and no one else is around, the only sound the odd buzzing of the fluorescent lights.

They make it to the corridor where the security guards were posted earlier in the day. Luther points urgently. “You go first, Hank,” Luther tells him. “I promise I’ll explain everything on the way.”

Hank feels uneasy going first, but, he trusts Luther, and cautiously makes his way down the hall. Luther follows close behind him.

“Hank,” the nurse starts, sounding scared. “If we don’t escape now, they’re gonna hurt you.”

Hank’s eyes widen. “Who’s gonna hurt me?”

Luther ignores him. “Please, just trust me. I’m going to get you out of here. I’m gonna help you escape.”

Hank is hesitant, but still he keeps going. As they make their way towards the exit, though, they hear voices up ahead.

“Damn it!” Luther swears, surprising Hank. “We can’t go through there.” The nurse looks like he’s mulling something over, then nods decisively to himself. “Come on, Hank, I know another way out. Just follow me.”

Hank doesn’t mention that he _has_ been following Luther since the younger man dragged him out of bed and just lets Luther lead him back the way they came. The taller man beckons him down dimly lit side corridor. “Come on,” he gestures, “we can use the maintenance elevator to get out of here.”

“Yeah, sure...” Hank says, feeling lost. “Alright.” The two of them hurry to the elevator, and when they get inside, Hank is confused to see Luther push the button for the rooftop. “Look, buddy, I don’t know how you plan to escape by going to the roof, but...” the elevator arrives at their destination with a ding, and the doors slide open. Luther hurries out onto the roof and Hank hesitates against the chill of the night air. He’s still in his hospital gown, feet bare. “Luther!” he hisses. “I don’t think this is a good idea!” Receiving no answer, Hank reluctantly makes his way off the elevator. His heart skips a beat when he sees what Luther has gotten up to in the few moments he was by himself.

The nurse stands on top of the low brick wall meant to keep people from falling off the roof. He faces Hank, looking blank and defeated. Hank freezes.

“Jesus fuck, kid! Get down from there!” Hank snaps, totally unprepared to be some kind of negotiator with someone determined to jump off a roof. He notices that Luther’s scrubs are covered in blood, certain that they weren’t when the nurse first entered his room. That is definitely something he would have been instantly aware of.

Luther doesn’t seem to really be hearing him. “It’s quicker than the stairs,” he tells Hank, sounding breathless. “Besides. All the doors are locked.” Luther pauses, and then meets Hank’s gaze desperately. “This is the only way out of here, Hank. The only escape.” Hank blinks stupidly at him while his mind races, trying to think of something to calm the nurse down. “Let’s both jump together!” Luther encourages him. “It won’t even hurt, I promise.”

Hank runs a hand nervously through his hair. “Luther, listen,” he pleads. “This is a really bad idea. Come down here and we’ll talk, okay? We’ll figure something out.”

Luther doesn’t budge. “I’ve made up my mind, Hank,” the nurse tells him. “I can’t stand suffering like this anymore.”

Hank panics. “You’re a nice guy! You’ve got your whole life in front of you!” he tells Luther, taking a cautious step forward.

Luther shakes his head. “I don’t have a choice, Hank,” he tells him sadly. “I’ve gotta jump.”

Hank takes another small step forward, holding out his hand and trying to coax Luther back to safety. “Please,” he says, desperate to get through to him, “just calm down for a second.”

“Didn’t you hear me?” Luther snaps. “I don’t have a choice!”

Hank frowns. “Of course you do! Just come back with me, and we can pretend this whole thing never happened, if that’s what you want!” Hank begs. “Please, kid, I know this isn’t the answer. This won’t solve anything.”

Luther narrows his eyes at him. “Why do you even care, Hank?”

Hank falters. “I don’t want you to make the same mistake I made.”

Luther looks betrayed. “I thought you of all people would understand,” he tells Hank sadly. “How it feels to be trapped… unable to trust anyone...”

Hank’s heart swells in sympathy. “Of course I do,” he says quietly. “And I also understand, better than most, that this is not gonna make your problems go away. If anything, it’ll make them worse. So just please, get down from there, let's go back inside, okay?”

Luther smiles sadly at him. “I like you, Hank,” he tells him, eyes full of regret. “We could have been great friends, I think.”

Hank nods, latching onto that. “Of course. We still can! You just need to get down, and then we’ll have all the time in the world to sort this out and become pals.”

Luther shakes his head. “No, I don’t think that will work,” he tells Hank. “But I’ll be back. When you need help… I’ll be there, Hank. But right now, I think it’s time for me to go.” And with that, Luther lets himself fall backwards, off of the roof.

“No!” Hank shouts and darts forward, arms outstretched. But he’s not close enough. He’s too late to catch Luther, and can only watch in horror as the younger man falls quickly to earth. Luther’s body lands on a car in the lot below, the impact crumpling the roof of the car into an awkward cradle for Luther’s mangled body.  The car’s alarm shatters the silence of the night around him. Hank covers his mouth in horror and stumbles back, away from the edge. He thinks he might be having a panic attack. He can’t breathe. Leaning against the wall of the building, he slowly slides down until he’s sitting and supports his head with his hands.

“Fuck...” Hank whispers to himself, trying to stop shaking. He couldn’t save Luther. He failed. Hank tries to get his breathing under control, and for awhile it’s all he can think about. _In, and out_. Slowly, he calms down. He has no idea how long he’s been sitting up on the roof, but he’s freezing now, and the sun has just barely started to peek over the horizon. Shakily, he climbs to his feet and makes his way back inside. He has to tell someone. He can’t believe no one came out to see what happened, the noise of the impact was incredibly loud in the still night air.

When he returns to the ward, it’s starting to come to life again, nurses hurrying back and forth, a few patients wandering aimlessly.  He sees North and decides to talk to her. But as Hank stumbles through his explanation, North just quirks an eyebrow at him.

“There’s no way you could have been on the roof, Hank,” she tells him. “The service elevator isn’t even working, it’s been broken for weeks. I know, because that’s where I used to sneak off to for smoke breaks.” She pauses. “Don’t repeat that to anyone. Now, come on, let's get you back to bed, you have a meeting with Doctor Z in a few hours, and I’m sure you want to be well rested.”

Hank tries to argue, but North just shakes her head. “I think you’re confused, Hank. I can assure you, there was absolutely nothing wrong when I came in today. And if someone jumped off the roof, it would have been big news around here, okay?  I haven’t even seen Luther for a few weeks, we must be getting opposite shifts, but I’m sure he’s fine, too.”

Hank doesn’t know what to think. He knows what he saw, but he also knows that what North is saying makes sense. Hospital staff would have to have discovered Luther, he fell right into the parking lot, it would have been extremely difficult to miss. He starts trembling slightly, and North frowns.

“Look, I know the doctor said you didn’t have to take anymore medication, but would you like something to help you calm down a little?” she asks him, voice surprisingly gentle. “You don’t have to, obviously, but it might help.”

Hank didn’t think North was capable of such kindness, but he’s not about to pass up her offer. He’ll gladly take some damn medicine if it means he can just forget about this all for a few hours. He nods and North shows him back to his room. “I’ll be right back,” she tells him, and before Hank even has time to fully settle into his bed, she returns, meds in hand. Hank takes it without hesitation. North glances at him, and says, “Make sure you talk to Doctor Z about this, okay? He’ll help you.” Hank nods drowsily, already half asleep.

“Yeah, okay, whatever,” he mumbles, as his eyes slip closed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yikes. im sorry, killin luther feels Bad man.
> 
> find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/gaydeviants) ;)


	11. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> previously: _Hank didn’t think North was capable of such kindness, but he’s not about to pass up her offer. He’ll gladly take some damn medicine if it means he can just forget about this all for a few hours. He nods and North shows him back to his room. “I’ll be right back,” she tells him, and before Hank even has time to fully settle into his bed, she returns, meds in hand. Hank takes it without hesitation. North glances at him, and says, “Make sure you talk to Doctor Z about this, okay? He’ll help you.” Hank nods drowsily, already half asleep._
> 
> _“Yeah, okay, whatever,” he mumbles, as his eyes slip closed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lots of dialogue. a lot probably very similar to the cat lady game, idr how much i varied it here. also a little bit of murder.

Now, sitting in Doctor Z’s office, Hank starts to feel like maybe last night _was_ all just a bad dream. The two men are sitting in comfortable chairs, the doctor’s desk a divide between them. Said doctor has been droning on and on, asking him the typical bullshit questions.

“Are you going to try it again?”

“No.”

“Are you going to hurt yourself or anyone else?”

“ _No.”_

“Tell me about your relationship with your father.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake...”

It continues this way for what seems like hours, and all Hank can think about is getting through this as quickly as possible, so he can leave his place and never come back. The doctor pauses, giving Hank a bit of time to collect his thoughts before they move on to the next line of questioning.

Hank glances around the office, taking in the surroundings. The doctor has his diplomas and certificates displayed behind his desk, and to Hank’s left, a rather disturbing painting featuring what appears to be some kind of old fashioned brain surgery, the patient covered in blood. Hank thinks its a pretty poor choice for a psychiatrist’s office. Or, actually, anywhere.

“You… like art?” he asks, not really sure why. Trying to seem more engaged, he supposes. The silence stretching between them was becoming uncomfortable.

“Ah. Yes,” says Doctor Z, seeming pleased that Hank appeared interested. “I do enjoy fine art. Very much so. There is… a certain raw beauty to it that modern painters don’t often capture, do you know what I mean?”

_Shit,_ Hank thinks, hoping he didn’t just get roped in to a long-winded discussion about the shortcomings of modern art. “Uhh, yeah, sure. I feel the same way?”

Doctor Z doesn’t seem to notice that Hank has absolutely no idea what he’s talking about as he plows right ahead. “I always wanted to be an artist,” the doctor tells him. Hank tries his best to seem like he cares even a little bit. “But, I think I’ve got a long way to go with that.” The doctor pauses. “You know,” he says, after a moment. “I often say that the patients are my canvas.”

_Uh huh,_ Hank thinks. _Not creepy at all._

“But my job is more about restoration, I think,” the doctor continues. “I look at the damaged human minds and bring them back to their former beauty.”

Hank tries very hard not to roll his eyes. “Yeah, real poetic and all that. Are we almost done here? I’d really like to get home and feed my dog, he’s probably torn the house apart by now.”

Doctor Z smiles. Hank doesn’t think it’s even a little bit sincere. “Almost done, Hank.  I’d just like to ask you a few questions about your life.”

Hank groans internally. “Yeah, okay, fire away,” he tells Doctor Z, eager to get this over with.

“These questions might seem… very personal,” the doctor starts, delicately. “But please, it is important that you answer as honestly as possible, so I can properly help you.”

Hank reluctantly nods. “Sure. Let’s just do this.”

The doctor does that fake-looking smile again. “Wonderful. Let me see...” doctor Z pauses, gathering his thoughts. “Do you live alone, Hank?” he inquires.

Hank breathes out a sigh through his nose. “Yeah, I do. Well, just me and Sumo, my dog,” he tells him. “I used to like it that way… but now… I’m not so sure. Got a lot of time on my hands, a lot of time alone with my thoughts, you know?” Hank tells him.

“Well,” the doctor taps his pen against his desk, “perhaps you could find a friend. There are lots of suicide support groups out there. We have one here at the hospital, actually. They’re very good, very helpful.”

_Fat fuckin’ chance,_ Hank thinks. Outwardly, he says, “Oh. Maybe. I’ll think about it.”

Doctor Z seems satisfied enough with that answer. He moves on. “What do you do for a living, Hank?”

“I’m a lieutenant with the Detroit Police,” Hank tells him. “Barely.” he tacks on at the end, despite himself.

The doctor seems to latch on to that. “What do you mean by ‘barely’, Hank?”

Hank drums his fingers against his thigh, reluctant to open up but also feeling strangely compelled. “I don’t make it to work before noon, most days,” he starts out, roughly. “I’m always hungover, if I’m not downright still drunk from the night before. And… I’m just… tired. All the time.”

Doctor Z mulls this over. “Typical symptoms of depression, Hank,” he tells him. “I can prescribe you something for that, if you’d like. It will make you feel stronger. More motivated.”

Hank chuckles humorlessly. “I admire your faith in modern medicine, doc. I hope you’re right.”

The doctor nods. “Do not worry, Hank, we will get you through this.” He pauses, then asks his next question. “Do you feel safer at home? More comfortable?”

“...Yeah? I guess so?” Hank tells him. “I don’t think it’s really about safety, though. I just… feel like shit all the time, you know? At home, I don’t have to put on a happy front and pretend like everything is just fine. And sometimes, being out in the world, seeing all those happy people just fucks me up even more. Really brings me down.” The doctor nods sympathetically, letting Hank continue. “I just feel like such a fuck up,” Hank elaborates. “If I’m at home, I don’t have to see what I’m missing out on, and it doesn’t hurt as much.”

“And what do you think you’re missing out on, Hank?” Doctor Z questions him. “What could make your life better?”

Hank takes time to really think this over. What _does_ he want? What _would_ make his life better? “I don’t know, doc,” he says. “Someone, maybe.”

“Someone?” the doctor probes. “A friend? A lover?”

Hank groans in frustration. “I don’t know. Just. _Someone._ I don’t care _what_ they are to me, I just… I feel like I need someone I can trust. Someone I can talk to other than my dog. But I can’t really see that happening, I’m pretty fuckin’ antisocial.”

“You should try to open up a bit, Hank.” Doctor Z tells him.

_Yeah,_ Hank thinks, _no fuckin’ shit. How else do you meet people?_ Out loud, he says, “I’ll see what I can do,” with very little conviction.

“Have you ever attended group therapy? Perhaps that could help you, and it would be a way to meet some more people.”

Just the thought of it makes Hank want to drink himself into oblivion, but he wisely doesn’t tell the doctor that. He lets his silence speak for itself. “Well, it’s just something to think about,” the doctor continues after a moment. “It seems like you are really willing to open up and talk about your issues.”

Hank frowns. It _does_ seem that way, doesn’t it? He’s never talked about how he _feels_ this much before. He doesn’t know where all of this is coming from.

Doctor Z doesn’t stop his questioning. “Do you have trouble sleeping at night, Hank?”

Hank snorts. “You fuckin’ bet. Drink myself to sleep most nights. Or if I can’t even be bothered with that I take the pills. I don’t have any left, though.” _What are you doing?_ Hank mentally berates himself. _Don’t say shit like that, you’re trying to get_ out _of here!_ Hank clears his throat. “Anyway...”

Doctor Z nods. “I see. Okay Hank, a few more questions, and then we can wrap this up.” Hank is more than ready for that. “Can you tell me, how are you feeling, right now?”

Hank thinks that over. “I’m feeling… better than I was. Ready to go home, ready to try and turn shit around.”

The doctor seems pleased. “That’s good, Hank. Suicide attempts can often have that effect on people. Just like near-death experiences. It makes you realize that you’re not actually ready to die yet. Continuing with that line of thought, what are some things that make you feel good? It’s important for you to have a plan, to have some things in mind to distract you when you’re feeling low.”

Hank frowns. “Not too much, to be honest,” he tells the doctor. “My dog, a good stiff drink or 3...” he trails off, thinking. There’s no way he’s going to bring up the Russian Roulette. “Music, I guess.”

“Music?” Doctor Z prods. “Expand on that, Hank.”

Huffing out a breath, Hank shrugs. “I dunno, doc. It’s just. Good. Distracting, like you said. I got varying tastes, and not everything is good for lifting the spirits though, if I’m being honest. But I got this old record player, and every now and then, I play an old jazz album on it. That’s one of my few simple pleasures in life. But even that doesn’t cut it like it used to, anymore.”

Doctor Z nods. “Well, at least you have some ideas, and a simple distraction can be good for at least temporarily lifting the mood,” he tells Hank. Hank shrugs again. “And… another thing,” Doctor Z pauses here. Hank has a feeling this is going to be a big question. And, of course, he’s right. “What can you tell me about Erica?”

Hanks stomach drops. “Erica?” he echoes.

“Your late wife,” the doctor supplies, as if Hank didn’t actually know who he was referring to. “I’m curious to know about your relationship, what happened between you. I feel like that could really help solve some of your problems.”

Hank _really_ doesn’t want to talk about this, and yet, he almost does. Then he thinks back to Luther, and his warning about how Doctor Z gets into your head, gets you to say things you don’t mean to say. He bites his tongue.

“I don’t want to talk about that. That has nothing to do with… any of this,” he says firmly, despite knowing that is not actually the truth.

The doctor sighs, but relents. “I suppose that’s okay, Hank. You’ve been very forthcoming and opened up quite a bit today. I think that’s all.” Hank stands, excited to finally be leaving. “Oh, wait, one more thing,” Doctor Z says, holding up his hand. Hank suppresses the urge to scream in frustration. “Can you tell me… exactly what happened last night?”

Hank’s blood runs cold. _Luther,_ he thinks, shaken.

“From what I understand,” the doctor continues, “nurse North says you saw nurse Luther jump off the roof of the hospital.”

Slowly, Hank nods.

“You’re absolutely sure you saw Luther jump?” Doctor Z prods.

Once again, Hank manages to hold himself back from saying more than he’d like. “You know, it doesn’t really matter anymore,” he tells the doctor. “I just wanna get this over with and get the hell out of here.”

Doctor Z nods. “Hank, I know Luther very well. He would not do something like this,” he tells him. “Why, I just saw him this morning, in the cafeteria, when I was getting coffee. He’s fine.” Hank frowns. He was so sure what he saw last night was real… “I’d like you to come with me,” the doctor continues. “You can say hello to Luther, and see for yourself that he is okay.”

“Quit treating me like I’m nuts!” Hank snaps at him. He immediately forces himself to relax. “But fine. I’ll go. I don’t even really give a shit anymore anyway.” Hank moves away from his seat by the doctor’s desk and leads the way to the door. He just wants to get out of here, is that too much to ask? He reaches for the handle, but when he pulls it, he finds that it won’t budge. He turns to the doctor. “Hey, doc, your door is stuck?”

Doctor Z just stands there, looking at him. “I plan ahead, Hank,” he tells him. “I just had a _feeling_ that you would be trouble. And it turns out I was correct.” Hank’s heart starts beating faster, sweat prickling at his brow. The doctor takes a step closer. “I feel like we really got to know each other very well today, and I’m very sorry your life has been so… difficult.” Another step closer. “I like your blue eyes, and your strong hands.” The doctor reaches out, as if to touch him.

Hank tries to take a step back, but he runs into the locked door. “Listen, stay the fuck away from me-” he starts.

“You’re very smart, I can see why they made you lieutenant,” Doctor Z prattles on. “But you have been so sad for so long. You just can’t come back from that.”

“What are you-”

He takes another step closer to Hank, again cutting him off. “You know, for what it’s worth, I would have let you go. But you had to bring up _Luther_.” By this time, the doctor is right in front of Hank. He’s got him cornered.

“Okay, buddy, enough with the bullshit-” Hank begins, but before he can get another word out, he feels a knife pierce his side. With a gasp of surprise, Hank falls to the ground. The doctor is on him in a heartbeat. He feels the knife enter his body over and over. Hank struggles, but he was caught unprepared and the doctor easily overpowers him. Slowly, he loses consciousness, blood staining his clothes and the floor of the doctors office. Shortly after that, he dies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> susans husband in the cat lady is called eric, i literally just swapped him out for an erica instead there u go.
> 
> 28 STAB WOUNDS!!!!


	12. interlude III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> previously: _“Okay, buddy, enough with the bullshit-” Hank begins, but before he can get another word out, he feels a knife pierce his side. With a gasp of surprise, Hank falls to the ground. The doctor is on him in a heartbeat. He feels the knife enter his body over and over. Hank struggles, but he was caught unprepared and the doctor easily overpowers him. Slowly, he loses consciousness, blood staining his clothes and the floor of the doctors office. Shortly after that, he dies._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer im a dumbass and literally do not understand this puzzle at all so i had to go w what i could google and i still dont understand it!!!!! also, as before, a lot of dialogue is obviously not mine.

Hank has hastily come to the conclusion that he doesn’t care for dying at all. He opens his eyes in what appears to be an abandoned theater. There is not a soul around and the folding chairs are all empty. Front and center there is a stage, with what looks like a large, old-fashioned dresser with an attached mirror. Perched haughtily on top of the mirror is a crow. Its loud caws are the only sound that breaks the eerie silence. Hank frowns. He turns to examine the mirror, to look at his face in its reflection. He just barely manages to get a glimpse of his own confused expression before the surface of the mirror shifts, and a giant eye covers the entirety of the glass pane. Hank stumbles back, startled, and the crow flies away with one last shriek.

The eye darts back and forth in a sickeningly frantic motion, and Hank hears a voice from beyond the glass.

“Nasty doctor Z,” the voice says. It sounds hoarse and scratchy, as if the speaker is recovering from a bad cold. Static crackles between sentences, distorting the words. “He hurt little Hank.”

“And who the fuck are you, then?” Hank asks, resigned to more of the same weird shit.

“I am the CROW, of course!” the voice… the Crow, apparently, says, as the eye continues its constant rotation. “I’m going to get you out of here. Unless Hank would like to stay, of course?”

“Yeah, no thanks,” says Hank. “This place isn’t exactly doing it for me.”

“I thought so,” says the Crow. “There are two doors leading out of this place. One of them will take Hank back to where he belongs. But behind the other one… there is a great reward for him! It is something he has always wanted… something he longs for every single day...”

Hank feels his heart speed up. He knows exactly what the voice is talking about. But he also knows nothing could be that easy, especially lately. “So, where are the doors, then?” he asks, gesturing around. “I don’t see them.”

“Just walk back stage-right,” the voice answers him. “My dear little Hank won’t be able to miss them.” Hank doesn’t like how this voice talks to him, and he doesn’t necessarily trust it, but he walks back toward the right side of the room anyway, for lack of a better option. Sure enough, he does see two identical doors. As he starts toward them, however, two twin shapes appear, blocking his path.

The two shapes turn out to be identical looking dolls, larger than life, that stand guard in front of either door. Their faces are distorted, and they are wearing red dresses. Their skin is pale, and covered in blood. Hank takes an involuntary step back, unnerved by them.

“Does Hank like my little girls?” comes the voice from all around him. Hank doesn’t answer. “I knew he would!”

Hank walks slowly off to the side, not wanting to be too close to them. As he moves, however, so do the dolls, their heads lolling grotesquely so as to follow his movement.

“Whatever these things are, tell them to cut that shit out!” Hank tells the Crow.

“But they are here to guide Hank!” the voice insists. “They are the guardians of the doors! They know which door will take him to his reward. But there is one problem...”

Hank snorts. “Yeah, there’s always a fuckin’ _problem._ I’m not even surprised anymore,” he tells the voice, disdainfully. “Which door should I take, then?”

“Well,” says the voice, “I will leave that to Hank’s best judgment.” Hank rolls his eyes. “But this might be the only chance to get back what Hank lost. Waste it, and he will never get it back.”

Hank grimaces. “My judgment’s fucked, pal. This ain’t gonna end so well for me.”

“Hank has one question,” the voice continues, ignoring his interruption, “and he can only ask one of them. He must use it wisely.”

That doesn’t seem too hard. “Fine,” says Hank. “But what’s the catch?”

The speaker seems happy that Hank asked. “It is very simple,” the voice tells him. “One of my girls always tells the truth. The other one always lies.”

Hank snorts. “And I’m guessing you’re not gonna tell me which is which, right?”

“It is something I have forgotten myself, a long time ago...” the voice laments. “But, does it really matter? All Hank needs is one question.”

_One question…_ Hank thinks, mulling it over.   _One always tells the truth, and one always lies.  But how would I know…_  He paces back and forth in front of the ghoulish dolls, trying to unravel the puzzle.  He stops in front of the doll on the right, assessing it. _If I ask it which one the other doll would want me to go through… no matter which one it is, it should tell me the wrong door, right?_ He’s not sure if his logic makes sense, but it feels...  Like he might be on the right track. So he takes a deep breath, and looks at the doll on the right.

“Which door would the other one tell me to go through?” he asks it.  It’s arm moves mechanically and it points to the door on the left. _So that’s… the wrong one?_ He wonders.  Praying he’s thinking things through correctly, he opens the door to the right instead.

Inside it is dark, with a single spotlight shining on a table in the center of the room. On top of the table is a lacy table cloth, and on top of that, a vase full of roses. Hank can smell their overly perfumed scent from where he stands. He feels anger bubble up inside him.

“Is this supposed to be my fuckin’ reward?” he demands. “Flowers? I _hate_ flowers. You lied to me, you son of a bitch!” The door slams shut behind him and he jumps. Hank reluctantly makes his way toward the flowers. As he reaches for them, the wall behind him is suddenly illuminated, and the giant eye is watching him again.

“Did you really think there would be anything precious waiting for you here?” it asks him, mockingly. “Look at these lovely roses. Just like everything, in the end, they turn to ash.” As Hank watches, the flowers shrivel and die, their remains blowing away with a nonexistent breeze. Despite the overwhelming evidence of how shitty things seem to be going for him, he had gotten his hopes up that just maybe… behind that door… He shakes his head, angry at himself, angry at the dolls, angry at the Crow, at everything.

Across the room, another door is suddenly visible. Ignoring the Crow’s eye, he makes his way toward it and wrenches it open. The room beyond is dark, but he doesn’t hesitate as he steps through. He feels the world shift slightly around him, and in the blink of an eye, he finds himself in the candle hall back in the Queen of Maggot’s cabin. Wonderful. Just when he thought his day couldn’t get any worse. The candle he blew out during his last visit has not been lit again, so curiously he heads toward one that is still burning brightly, and blows it out.

 

* * *

 

In a hospital across town, an old woman takes one last, shuddering breath before her heart monitor shrieks out an alarm as she flatlines.


	13. chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> previously: _Across the room, another door is suddenly visible. Ignoring the Crow’s eye, he makes his way toward it and wrenches it open. The room beyond is dark, but he doesn’t hesitate as he steps through. He feels the world shift slightly around him, and in the blink of an eye, he finds himself in the candle hall back in the Queen of Maggot’s cabin. Wonderful. Just when he thought his day couldn’t get any worse. The candle he blew out during his last visit has not been lit again, so curiously he heads toward one that is still burning brightly, and blows it out._
> 
> _\---_
> 
> _In a hospital across town, an old woman takes one last, shuddering breath before her heart monitor shrieks out an alarm as she flatlines._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg ok lots of blood/gore/horror stuff in this one. more murder, too! golly.

Then, darkness again. Hank feels different, though, like he’s trapped, encased in something. He thrashes violently in panic at first, before calming himself and trying to think logically. He reaches out, and his hands meet a thick, plastic material. Running his hands along the plastic in search of some sort of clue, he pauses when he feels a long, thin strip of metal. _A zipper_ , he thinks. Trembling, he finds the beginning of the zipper and hurriedly starts to free himself. He’s not wasting any time as he fights his way out of the body bag. Because, of course, that’s what he was in. He looks around the room, and can’t help the frightened sound that escapes him.

The walls are padded, and covered in blood. He sees several other bodies scattered around. Or, parts of bodies, at any rate. Looking down at himself, he can see he doesn’t look much better. He’s covered in his own blood, and his clothes are ripped from where he was stabbed. Any damage that his body had endured, however, seems to be healed. There’s a note pinned to the wall. Hank moves closer, to get a good look at it. “‘My name is Hank Anderson. I live alone in this shithole two-bedroom apartment. I rarely go outside-’ Fuck!” Hank exclaims. Doctor Z has pinned Hank’s suicide note onto the wall. Hank rips it down and shoves it into his pocket.

_Fuckin’ son of a bitch…_ he thinks angrily. _Slimy bastard. I opened up to him and he fuckin’ stabbed me about 28 times. He’s not going to get away with this shit._ He pauses his mental tirade against the doctor when another thought comes to his mind. _Fuck. This means Amanda was telling the truth. I can’t die. Or, can’t stay dead, at any rate. I’m fuckin’ immortal._ He runs a hand through his hair, quickly stopping when he realizes he’s just dragging blood through it. He’s angrier than he can remember feeling in a long time. _Well,_ he thinks, _maybe it’s time to see just how mortal Doctor Z is._ Any protests about not wanting to kill people seem to slip from his mind, and all he can think about is getting even with doctor Z. He’s not sure if he likes the feeling.

Not wanting to waste time thinking about the moral implications of what he’s got in mind, he reaches for the handle of the door in front of him, surprised at first to find it unlocked. His surprise quickly dissipates, though, when he remembers he was dead when he was brought into this room, so Doctor Z would have had no reason to think the door needed to be locked. The only other occupants of the room were in way worse states of decay than he was.

He exits the room into a dark, narrow hallway. Pausing, he looks left and right, trying to decide which way looks more promising. He’s sure he has to still be somewhere in the hospital, Doctor Z couldn’t have made it far with a full body bag in tow. However, this place looks about as far from a hospital as he can imagine. The walls and ceilings are cement, covered with the discoloration of time. And also blood, by the look of it. He grimaces and tries a metal door to his left, but finds it locked. There are no windows, and the light is minimal. Rusty metal lockers line some of the walls. He thinks he must be in the basement or some sort of storage area in the hospital, that’s the only thing that makes sense. Faintly he can hear the sound of someone screaming down the hall to the right. His police instincts kick in, and he decides to head toward it, thinking maybe someone needs help.

Before he can get too far, however, he sees something that almost makes him scream himself. He only just manages to hold back, wanting to keep his newly alive state a secret for as long as possible. A large picture frame is suspended by wires from the ceiling. But instead of canvas, a much more gruesome sight greets him.

A decomposing woman’s corpse is posed within the frame, also held up by wires and bits of string. Her eyes are gouged out, but she is styled to look like the Mona Lisa. Hank’s hand goes to his mouth, and he stumbles back in fear, feeling his heart trying to beat its way out of his chest. Blood covers the woman’s body, and has also dripped onto her dress. Her decaying skin has started to peel away from her face, revealing large portions of her grinning skull. Hank shudders.

_What the fuck!_ He thinks to himself. He’d been unsettled by doctor Z, sure, and he’d had a gut feeling that there was something off about him, but he _never_ would have dreamed it was something to this extent. _He’s making artwork out of his victims…_

_“I often say that the patients are my canvas,”_ Doctor Z’s voice repeats eerily in his head. At the time, Hank had written it off as some of that overly poetic shit the doctor seemed apt to wax. Who in their right mind would have taken that literally? In hindsight, though, Hank feels like it should have tipped him off.

Hank feels a childish spike of fear about having to walk past the painting to continue on his way down the hall, irrationally thinking it might jump out at him. He shoves that fear down, and focuses instead on his motivation for vengeance, realizing he’s the only corpse around here that’s coming back to life. _You’re not gonna get away with this, you sick fuck,_ Hank silently promises the doctor.

Making his way further down the corridor, his heart skips a beat as he comes upon two more “art” installations. The first one contains a nude woman’s corpse, posed on an old hospital bed in such a way that it looks as if she’s lounging, a gross mockery of relaxation. She looks like paintings of Venus that Hank can vaguely remember seeing in passing, but this woman is not a goddess of love. She’s another victim of the doctor’s depravity.

Beside Venus, another woman’s limp body is positioned to mirror the famous Girl With The Pearl Earring painting. Like the others, Doctor Z used wire to keep her head tilted to the side. Hank has seen some incredibly dark things in his line of work, but this is really up there as some of the worst. The further Hank gets, the louder the screaming becomes. He feels a rush of adrenaline as he hurries forward, as quietly as he can. At the end of the corridor, there is door that is ajar. Cautiously, he peers through the crack, and is met with yet another disturbing sight.

Doctor Z has a young woman in a hospital gown tied to a chair. She’s covered in blood and bruises, but he continues to beat her. She screams in pain every time his fist connects with any part of her battered body. Doctor Z doesn’t seem to notice Hank, and that’s when Hank realizes the doctor is wearing a blindfold. _What kind of fuckin’ shit…_ Hank wonders, just as the doctor opens his mouth to start talking to his victim.

“I don’t need eyes to enjoy your fear,” he tells her in a deceptively kind voice. She cries out in terror. “Yes, scream louder!” he commands, raining punches down on her. “This is by far my favorite of songs!” With his back to Hank and a blindfold on, he doesn’t notice the lieutenant enter the room at all, but the woman does. Her eyes lock with his in a desperate plea for help and he gives her a quick nod, silently mouthing _I’ll be right back._ He darts from the room, looking for some kind of weapon he can use to incapacitate the doctor. _More like kill him,_ a darker part of his mind whispers. But if he has to make a choice between the victim or the guilty party, he’s going to do whatever he can to save the victim every time.

He hurries back down the hall, past the gruesome artwork and past the room where he came back to life. Further down the hall he comes to a dead end, his path blocked by a thick metal gate. Attached to the gate, impaled by a large metal rod, is one last body for him to discover. It’s badly decomposed, but Hank still recognizes the victim.

“Luther...” he whispers, shocked. The man has definitely been dead for quite some time, his body in an advanced stage of decomposition.  His scrubs are covered in blood, and Hank can remember being startled by the sight on the roof. _But I just talked to him last night…_ Then he thinks back to North, insisting that there was no body found, insisting that Hank couldn’t have even rode the service elevator to the roof, and he doesn’t know what to think. It doesn’t matter. There’s nothing he can do for Luther anymore. But the metal rod sticking out of his body is already sharpened and Hank thinks if he can pull it out, he can use it to take down Doctor Z.

“When you need help… I’ll be there, Hank.” Hank’s head whips around. He swears he heard Luther’s voice, as if the man was right there, whispering in his ear. But maybe it was just a memory. Either way, Hank sends out a silent thank you to the gentle nurse as he pulls the rod from Luther’s body as carefully as he can. There is still one very alive woman that needs his help.

Filled with anger and determination, Hank hurries back the other way. The metal rod hangs heavy in his hand. He knows what he’s about to do and has accepted it, but he also knows if he ever sees Amanda again, the woman will taunt him with I-Told-You-So’s. But he can’t think about the future gloating he might have to endure. Right now, he has a rescue mission to accomplish.

He reenters the room where he finds the doctor still taunting his victim. “Your scream… is like a poem without words,” Hank can hear him telling the woman. She’s stopped screaming now, barely able to make more sound than a quiet whimper of pain. “And I know all art must be appreciated,” the doctor continues, stroking her cheek.  “You will be immortalized in my art, forever admired by those who truly understand-” Hank can’t take it any longer. He crosses the room with quick, precise steps.

“Hey doc,” he calls out. The doctor turns, startled. With his eyes still covered by the blindfold, however, he can’t defend himself. “See you in hell,” Hank tells him angrily before ramming the rod through his body with all his strength. _See you in hell,_ Hank thinks to himself. _What a stupid fuckin’ thing to say._ Doctor Z lets out a surprised gasp which quickly turns into a wheeze, and Hank’s sure he punctured something vital. He can’t bring himself to feel even a little bit sorry. The doctor bleeds out quickly, but Hank doesn’t spare him another thought as he hurries over to the young woman. She’s crying, but the look she gives him is one of pure relief and gratitude.

“Thank you,” she gasps out as Hank works quickly to undo her restraints. Hank shakes his head, feeling her gratitude unnecessary. He feels a small spark in his chest, and he remembers the first time he ever saved someone as a cop. The good feeling never really goes away, although he’s felt numb to it for some time before now.

“Just doing my job,” he tells her gently, helping her stand. She leans on him heavily, but he supports her weight easily. He guesses being resurrected from the dead can maybe have that effect on a guy. He carefully wraps her arm over his shoulder, and holds her gently by her waist.

“He was going to kill me...” the woman whispers. Hank tightens his arm slightly around her, hoping to be some sort of comfort. “He killed all those others… that animal...” she trails off in fright, but then looks at him, a spark of righteous anger in her eyes. “You gave him what he deserved,” she tells him, leaving no room for argument. If Hank had any lingering doubts about whether he did the right thing or not, they all vanish with her declaration. Hank nods in agreement with her, as they slowly make their way down the corridor. She buries her head in his shoulder, not wanting to look at the dead women as they pass, and Hank can’t blame her. “Who are you?” she asks him. “What’s your name?”

Hank shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter. Just some dead guy,” he tells her. He hasn’t been paying attention to where they were walking, but now comes to notice that they are somehow out of the dank basement and have reentered the main hospital. “Can you just forget you ever saw me, please?” He thinks about Luther, telling him that real heroes leave before their identity is discovered, and how he’d scoffed at that. But now, he thinks, maybe the tall nurse was on to something.

She looks at him, as if she understands, and he knows she won’t mention him. Relief blooms in his chest. “Can you make it to the nurses station on your own?” he asks her. She nods, a determined look in her eyes. “Go. Call the police,” he tells her. “Get them to take care of all this.” He’s relieved that the hospital is outside of his jurisdiction, not wanting to get involved in investigating his own murder. Gently, he extracts his arm from around her.

“Thank you, again,” she tells him, making her way shakily down the hall, holding onto the wall for support. Hank watches her until she gets through the door to the next ward. He just knows she’s going to be okay, that she’s resilient. _And so am I,_ he thinks, as he turns and makes his way out the doors and into the sun, finally going home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok wow that was. a lot. we're getting closer to the hankcon now, lmao, i promise next time i post connor will finally appear. we want to see our boy. also the nameless woman was definitely tina and this inspired her to be a cop and then hank goes back to work and has to awkwardly pretend he never met the new girl before in his LIFE.


	14. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> previously: _“Thank you, again,” she tells him, making her way shakily down the hall, holding onto the wall for support. Hank watches her until she gets through the door to the next ward. He just knows she’s going to be okay, that she’s resilient. And so am I, he thinks, as he turns and makes his way out the doors and into the sun, finally going home._

Hank’s triumphant escape from the hospital quickly goes south when he realizes that it’s just not practical to walk around in the late afternoon covered in blood. Reluctantly, he skulks through the back allies to avoid people like some kind of criminal. And, of course, as luck would have it, the weather quickly goes down hill as dark clouds roll in. He’s just started thinking _I hope the rain holds off until I get home-_ , when the clouds above him open up and drench him in moments.

“Fuckin’ incredible,” he groans aloud, and quickens his pace. He’s desperate to get home and get out of his ruined clothing, and he really wants a hot shower and a cold drink. _Just one…_ he thinks, _then I’ll start turning shit around._ He’s not sure he believes himself, though.

His detour to avoid other people makes his trip home take even longer, and by the time he finally makes it back to his apartment, he’s absolutely soaked. Grumbling, he fishes around in his pocket for his keys, and hears Sumo’s deep, booming barks as the dog scrabbles at the other side of the door, eager to see his owner. Hank really isn’t looking forward to seeing the state Sumo’s got their apartment in after he’s been absent for several days, but he’s prepared for the worst. As soon as he gets the door unlocked, the giant St. Bernard is on him, wiggling happily and licking every bit of Hank he can manage. Hank chuckles and feels something warm inside his chest as he greets his dog, a gentle smile on his face. He scratches the dog behind his ears fondly, and finally glances around his apartment.

He’s surprised to find that Sumo hasn’t taken to tearing apart the furniture or shitting on the floor in his absence. Everything looks to be in order, and Hank swears things actually look better than when he left. But, he could be remembering wrong, he wasn’t exactly in the best state of mind last time he was here. He would like nothing more than to head straight to the shower, but he knows Sumo has been alone for ages, so he herds the dog to the side door, to let him outside. One good thing about his ground-floor apartment is the small, enclosed side yard. It’s as rundown as the rest of the building and not nearly big enough for Sumo, but it works well enough for his most basic needs. The large dog bounds outside and sniffs around, and Hank leaves him to it, knowing the rusty metal fence may look like it’s about to fall over, but it actually does keep Sumo from wandering. Hank can sit out on the small side porch, covered by a roof that only leaks a little in the rain, when he needs a break.

He leaves the side door ajar for Sumo to come back inside at his leisure, and glances around his living room. His eyes stop when he takes in the chair he was sitting in the last time he was here, and he frowns. He was certain that he’d been surrounded by empty bottles, knowing for a fact that he was even more drunk than usual. There is no sign of them. He’d had several half-smoked cigarettes stubbed out in the ashtray, but that too is clean. Feeling uneasy, he walks into the kitchen to get a drink. _Just one,_ he thinks, again. However, he finds nothing in his cupboards, and only a single beer in his fridge. _Did I really drink_ everything? he wonders. _Guess it would make sense, I wasn’t planning on being back to enjoy it later._ He takes his solitary beer from the fridge, guessing he really _is_ only getting to have one drink.

Sumo comes trotting back into the house, his nails clicking against the linoleum kitchen floor. Hank fills his food and water bowls, and the dog pounces on them in an instant. With a quiet chuckle, he makes his way to the side door to shut and lock it. He uses the chain, too, which is unusual, but after his time at the hospital, a little extra feeling of security is welcome.

Finally, _finally_ , he makes his way to the bathroom, ready to wash away the evidence of his most recent demise. He turns the shower on as hot as it will go, and discards his ruined clothes in a pile on the floor as the water rattles through the old, rusty pipes. Steam fills the room and Hank pulls back the shower curtain just enough so he can enter. He actually groans aloud in satisfaction as the hot water hits him, and sets his half finished beer on the back shelf, out of the way of the water but still within easy reach. His eyes slide closed and for awhile he just stands there, letting the water beat down on his skin. Then, with a long exhale, he opens them again and finally gets to work on cleaning himself. Blood rinses from his body, and he watches it mix with the water and swirl down the drain, a diluted pink color.

After he’s satisfied that his body is clean, his hair is next on his list. It takes awhile to get it clean, it’s positively matted with dried blood. He grimaces, but after shampooing it twice, the water runs clear. He finishes his beer in the shower, not in any real rush to get out. He has no idea where to go from here. He’d had abstract ideas about getting his shit together, but now, outside of Doctor Z’s office, he doesn’t know what that actually entails. Where does he even start? Before the feelings can overwhelm him, he shuts off the water with more force than is probably necessary, and climbs out of the shower, wrapping a towel around himself.

He exits the bathroom in a cloud of steam. Sumo, now fed and watered, is passed out asleep in his bed in the corner. Hank chuckles, and mutters, “lazy fucker,” affectionately as he makes his way to his room. His eyes slide right over the door to the second bedroom, the one he keeps closed up tight, not even wanting to think about it right now. Once in his own room, he heads to his closet and rummages around, quickly pulling on a pair of sweatpants and an old band shirt, and some warm socks for good measure. He rubs his hair dry quickly with his towel, and pulls it up into a small, messy knot on top of his head, secured with an elastic. A few strands hang loosely around his face, too short to stay in place.

Satisfied that he is now in peak condition to be as fuckin’ lazy and comfortable as possible, he pads quietly out of his room, his socks muffling his footsteps. For lack of anything else to do, he grabs a half finished pack of cigarettes, and heads back outside, and sits down heavily in the old lawn chair he keeps on the side porch. Rain patters down on the awning above him, and leaks through at several spots. He’s got his chair positioned just right, so as to remain dry. A lighter and an ashtray sit on the brick half-wall that encloses the space, and he lights up, taking a deep drag before exhaling slowly.

_Well,_ he thinks, _I’m back._ He drums the fingers of his free hand against his thigh. _How am I gonna fix the shit that’s been broken for years, though?_ He stares out into the backyard, eyes unfocused, and ponders his existence. _And what about these fuckin’ parasites?  As if I didn’t already have enough bad shit to deal with._ The rain continues its steady downpour and Hank continues to contemplate life.

_Shit,_ he thinks, _I killed Doctor Z._ It suddenly seems to be catching up to him. But he cuts himself off before he can feel too bad about it by remembering the young woman he saved. _She’s alive because of me. And he’s dead. And that’s the way it should be._ He can’t deny, that’s a good feeling. He clings to that, not having an abundance of good feelings in his life lately.

One last drag on his cigarette, and then he stubs it out in the ashtray, exhaling a cloud of smoke that dissipates into the dreary evening. He glances at the pack, but manages to resist smoking another. _Turning shit around,_ he thinks to himself, but it rings hollow. With a sigh, he hauls himself to his feet, the lawn chair groaning in protest.

Back inside the living room, he stands with his hands on his hips, unsure what to do with himself now. His eyes land on the old record player tucked away in a corner. He moves toward the device, unable to remember the last time he actually used it. Running a hand gently over the dust cover, he is not surprised when his fingers come away covered in the substance. Wiping the dust on his pants, he moves to the bookcase that houses his records and selects one at random, putting it on the machine. Jazz music soon fills the room, and Hank feels a little more relaxed as he sinks into the sofa.

Sumo, roused by the music, lets out a loud, happy boof and leaves his bed, jumping up to join Hank instead. He protests halfheartedly, but Sumo knows Hank is a pushover. He clambers onto the couch, clumsy limbs everywhere, and Hank can’t help but laugh. Sumo finally gets comfortable and flops down, resting his head on Hank’s lap. Hank’s hand immediately goes to the dogs large head, burying his fingers in his soft fur.

“You’re a good friend, Sumo,” Hank tells him, leaning back and closing his eyes. “The best friend I have, really. My only fuckin’ friend, and isn’t that sad?” Hank knows he really needs to stop indulging in these self-pitying moods, but he also finds it slightly therapeutic just to talk to Sumo, knowing the dog can’t understand him and only thinks the world of him. “Sumo, you will not believe the shit I’ve been through,” Hank continues. Sumo lets out a huff. “I’ve been to hell and back, boy. Twice, I think, actually.” Sumo raises his head slightly, but only to let out a jaw-splitting yawn before burying his head back in Hank’s lap. “And now I’m back. And shit’s as fucked up as it’s always been. I don’t know what I’m gonna do...” He whispers the last part, afraid to let even Sumo hear his confession.

Hank’s startled out of his one-sided conversation by a loud knock on the door. “Who the fuck is here so late?” he asks Sumo, rhetorically. Sumo seems excited that there could be a visitor, and jumps off the sofa, racing Hank to the door. He lets out another loud bark, and Hank shoves him back, to open the door.

He’s met with his upstairs neighbor, who looks very unhappy. _Perkins something,_ Hank thinks. He raises an eyebrow at him. “Can I help you?”

That only seems to anger Perkins further. “Are you out of your mind?” he shouts at him. “Don’t you realize what time it is? We’re all sick and tired of your fucking dog and your fucking music.”

Hank frowns. “What the hell are you talking about, buddy?” he asks wearily. “The dog wouldn’t be barking at all if you hadn't been pounding on my door like a fuckin’ lunatic. And how about you change your tone, I don’t I appreciate it.”

Perkins points a finger at him angrily. “Don’t talk to me about my tone. If it’s okay for you to play your fucking music in the middle of the night then I’ll raise my voice all I want!”

Hank pinches the bridge of his nose. He’s not at all in the mood for this. “Look, Mr...”

“Perkins,” spits the man. “Richard Perkins.”

“Right, _Dick,_ ” Hank drawls. “I didn’t realize it was gettin’ so late. Didn’t think you could hear it in your apartment, anyway. I’ll turn the music off, okay?” Hank offers wearily.

“It’s not just that!” Perkins yells. “Your fucking dog, barking all hours of the day and night, he’s been driving everyone crazy the last few days!”

Hank sighs. “Yeah, sorry about that,” he says, not sounding sorry at all. “I was in the hospital for a few days, didn’t have a chance to get anyone to take care of him. He was probably upset.”

Perkins doesn’t seem to care at all. “Well, keep him quiet,” he tells Hank. “There are other people living in this building, you know. People with jobs. If I hear him again, you might just be getting a visit from animal control. And you won’t like that at all.”

Hank growls. “Are you threatening me?” he asks the other man. “Cause I wouldn’t recommend that, honestly.”

Perkins glares. “I’m just telling you the facts,” he snaps at Hank.

“Fine, whatever, fuck off,” Hank says, fed up with this conversation. He turns and goes back into his apartment, slamming the door in his neighbor’s face. Sumo looks at him curiously, wondering what all the shouting was about. Hank pets his head gently. “What a dick,” he tells the dog.

Sumo seems satisfied with that, and Hank gives him a small smile that he doesn’t really feel. With a yawn, he walks down the hall, Sumo following him loyally. He enters his room again, and shoves the piles of dirty clothes unceremoniously from his bed. With a sigh, he flops down and pulls the covers up around him, suddenly feeling tired to his very bones. The bed shakes as Sumo jumps up to join him, curling up and falling quickly into slumber, and Hank falls asleep to the sound of the dog’s loud snoring, ready to start anew tomorrow.


	15. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> previously: _Sumo seems satisfied with that, and Hank gives him a small smile that he doesn’t really feel. With a yawn, he walks down the hall, Sumo following him loyally. He enters his room again, and shoves the piles of dirty clothes unceremoniously from his bed. With a sigh, he flops down and pulls the covers up around him, suddenly feeling tired to his very bones. The bed shakes as Sumo jumps up to join him, curling up and falling quickly into slumber, and Hank falls asleep to the sound of the dog’s loud snoring, ready to start anew tomorrow._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY! connor's here and he knos what he wants. say goodbye to that slowburn tag lmao!!!!

Hank wakes up sometime late the following afternoon. For a long time, he just lays in his bed, staring at the ceiling, mind going a hundred miles an hour. Today feels like the start of something, but he’s not sure what. He feels different, and yet somehow unchanged.

Rain still beats against the windows, and Hank groans, wanting nothing more than to stay in bed all day. Sumo, realizing he’s awake, sits up and looks at him expectantly, and Hank rolls his eyes but reluctantly untangles himself from the covers before the two of them make their way out to the living room. Hank lets Sumo out the side door, and enters the kitchen, starting some coffee for himself and filling Sumo’s food dish. As he’s pouring his coffee into a mug, he hears a knock at the front door.

_If that’s that Dick again I swear to God…_ Hank thinks as he makes his way out of the kitchen. Sumo comes bounding back into the house, excited, looking torn between going to eat his food or see who is at the door. Hank rolls his eyes. “Go eat your lunch, you big goof.” Sumo looks at him for a second longer, and then darts off into the kitchen. Hank can hear the sound of him tearing into his meal.

Bracing himself for another confrontation, Hank heads to the door, coffee in hand. _Well at least I can throw this on him if he’s being an asshole again_ , he thinks. But it’s not Perkins who is knocking, and Hank is utterly unprepared for the sight that greets him when he opens the door.

Hank’s certain he must still be asleep, because the man waiting on his doorstep looks like something out of his… more adult dreams. He’s slim and shorter than Hank, and his brown hair is styled impeccably, except for one curl by his forehead that seems determined to do its own thing. He’s wearing sinfully tight black jeans tucked into black boots, and a leather jacket. He’s got a backpack that looks overfilled, along with a small wheeled suitcase. Wide, innocent brown eyes meet Hank’s and the younger man gives him a small, shy smile. Hank thinks he might pass out.

“Hello, Mr. Anderson,” the man greets him, and fuck, even his voice is sexy. Kinda goofy, but incredibly endearing. Hank is suddenly very aware that his own appearance, by comparison, is very sloppy. Still in the sweats and band shirt he pulled on after showering last night, with his hair escaping the elastic he used to tie it back. He can’t do much but stare stupidly at the stranger for a moment. The younger man seems uncertain. “Umm, how are you?” he asks. “Are you feeling better?”

Hank finally pulls it together shakes his head, trying to scatter his impure thoughts. He clears his throat. “Sorry,” Hank asks him, “but do I know you?” He’s fairly certain that the answer is no, because he would definitely remember meeting a guy like this.

The man on his doorstep seems embarrassed. “Ah. Of course, you probably don’t remember,” he tells Hank. Hank resists the temptation to voice his previous thought. “My name is Connor Hunt,” the man, Connor, tells him. “We met a few days ago. Well, I wouldn’t say met, exactly, you were out cold at the time...” Connor prattles on nervously. “Those pills you took worked really well.” Hank starts putting everything together. “I think you _probably_ had a few too many, though,” says Connor, and Hank feels like he’s teasing, just a bit.

Hank places his coffee mug on the end table just inside his front door. Folding his arms, he leans against the door frame. “So. It’s you,” he says, trying his hardest not to stare too much. “The other Mr. Anderson, I take it?”

Connor blushes. “Sorry, it was the first thing I could come up with. They wouldn’t have let me go with you in the ambulance otherwise.” Hank thinks the people at the hospital must be fuckin’ idiots if they thought a guy like Connor would be married to someone like himself. But that was probably the least of that hospital’s problems, if he’s being honest.

Connor looks nervous. “I understand if you’re angry at me. I got in the way. Fucked with your plans.” Hank mulls that over. Is he angry? Would he rather be dead right now? Connor continues before he can decide. “You probably blame me for calling the ambulance, right? Well, I had my reasons. Personal reasons, reasons besides the obvious ones, I mean. I wasn’t just going to let you die, after all.”

Hank holds up a hand, quieting him. “It’s okay,” he tells him. He’s surprised to find he means it. “It was a fucked up thing and I shouldn’t have done it, and it was definitely more trouble than it was worth,” he says, thinking back to all the shit he’s had to go through since attempting to take his own life. “You wanna tell me what you were doing here, though? Why you were in my apartment in the first place?”

Connor looks nervous. “I came to talk to you,” he tells Hank.

“To talk to me,” Hank repeats, staring at him. “Why would you want to talk to _me_?”

“Well,” Connor continues, “I saw the ad you put in the newspaper? About having a room to rent?”

“Jesus,” Hank says. “I forgot about that. The ad is still in print?” A few months ago, Hank had, on a whim, decided that maybe he needed to open up that second bedroom and make some changes. He regretted it within a day and never got back to any of the interested people. And now it seems that Connor had seen the ad, and wants in. It’s a bit harder to ignore a potential roommate when they are standing on your front porch, and they look… how Connor looks. “I’d given up on that, actually.” Hank tells him.

Connor looks determined, though. “I’d like to be your roommate, Mr. Anderson,” he tells Hank, looking ready to argue his case. “You have the room and I have the money. It’ll work out well for both of us!”

“Connor, I don’t know, I’m not exactly good roommate material...” Hank tries to warn him off. It doesn’t seem to deter the younger man, though.

“Well, that’s okay, because I am! I’m really tidy, and quiet, and I won’t spend too much time in the bathroom in the morning,” Connor starts, and Hank thinks it is completely unfair that someone as attractive as Connor doesn’t have to spend hours getting ready.

“I don’t think-”

Connor cuts Hank off. “I read your note, you know,” he tells Hank, not meeting his eyes now. Hank’s having a hard time keeping up with his rapid subject changes.   “I’m sorry, I know I probably shouldn’t have, but I did,” Hank frowns, but Connor hurries on before he can interrupt. “I get it, you like your loneliness, you don’t like being around people. But I won’t get in the way. I’ll give you all the space you need. I promise, you won’t even know I’m here.” Connor looks at him, and fuck if it doesn’t remind Hank of the look Sumo gives him when he wants a treat. Hank feels his resolve breaking.

“Ugh, fuck. I guess I could use the extra money...” he starts, still not convinced it’s really a good idea.

“Great!” Connor says. “Can I come in, then?” and Hank knows he’s well and truly fucked, and that he would give this kid whatever he wanted just like that.

“Fuck, fine, come on in I guess,” Hank tells him, in disbelief that he’s actually allowing this to happen. He turns to go back inside, and Connor follows him eagerly, like a puppy. Hank tries to find that annoying instead of endearing, he really does. Sumo hears them enter and comes bounding out of the kitchen and runs right to Connor. The younger man’s face lights up and he kneels down to pet the large dog.

“Hello again!” Connor greets Sumo, like they’re old friends. “I like dogs!” Connor tells Hank happily as he ruffles the fur on Sumo’s head. _Fuck_ , Hank thinks, _of course he does_. Sumo barks happily, and licks Connor’s face. Connor doesn’t seem to mind.

“Listen,” Hank tells him. Connor pauses lavishing attention on Sumo and looks up at Hank. “The spare room… I haven’t used it in… a long time. It’s not in the best shape. Its actually pretty fuckin’ shitty.”

Connor shrugs. “I’m not fussy. It won’t be for too long, anyway,” he tells Hank. For someone who wasn’t even on board with having a roommate a few minutes ago, Hank can’t help but feel a little bit of disappointment at that. “A few weeks, maybe,” Connor informs him. “Besides, anything is better than where I’m staying now.”

“And where _are_ you staying now?” Hank asks him.

Connor looks down. “I slept at the bus station last night.”

Hank groans. “You gotta be kidding me,” he tells Connor. There’s no telling what kind of danger a guy like Connor could be subject to, hanging around the bus station at night. Hank doesn’t know what to make of Connor, he seems innocent and a bit naive, which seems to be at odds with his formal and intelligent demeanor. 

“There’s a guy there that talks to rats,” Connor continues as if Hank hadn’t interjected at all. “You should see him.”

“Unbelievable,” Hank mutters, shaking his head. “Can you even afford to pay rent?”

Connor nods eagerly. “Oh yes, money’s not a problem!” he tells Hank. “I’ll pay you for two months in advance, if you’d like.”

Hank shakes his head. “No, don’t worry about it, kid,” he tells Connor. “But why don’t you just stay in a hotel, then?”

Connor frowns “I hate hotels, they give me the creeps.  Too quiet,” he tells Hank seriously.

Hank sputters. “More so than… bus stations and homeless dudes who talk to rats?”

“Who, Ralph?” Connor asks. “No, no, he’s cool. Very nice. And he kept the rats away!  I think he might also be eating them, though.” Sumo seems to have grown bored of their conversation, and trots away, likely headed to Hank’s room to sleep on his bed. Even though he’s got a perfectly good one of his own in the living room, as Hank likes to remind him, frequently and loudly. Connor, who had still been on the floor petting Sumo, moves to get back on his feet.

Without thinking, Hank offers the other man his hand, to help him up. Connor pauses for only a second before taking it with his own, and lets Hank pull him back to his feet. Connor stumbles slightly, and ends up nearly falling into Hank before the older man catches him. They stand frozen, staring at each other for a moment. Hank notices a small flush on Connor’s face.

Hank also notices that he’s got his hands on Connor’s waist to steady him, and quickly lets go. He definitely doesn’t want to make Connor uncomfortable. _Get it together, Hank,_ he berates himself. _The last thing the kid needs is to feel like his new roommate is some horny old dude who’s trying to feel him up._   Connor blushes a bit more.

“Sorry, Mr. Anderson,” he quickly says, sounding slightly breathless. “I can be incredibly clumsy.” It almost sounds like some sort of horrible pickup line, an excuse to be closer to him.  He was no stranger to this tactic back in the day. Hell, 10 or 15 years ago he had guys like Connor coming onto (and usually home with) him all the time. But, that was then...

He shakes his head, scattering those thoughts away. “It’s okay,” he tells Connor. “And no more of this Mr. Anderson shit. If we’re going to be living together, Hank is fine.”

Connor tilts his head, considering this. “Hm, yes, I suppose that does make more sense. After all, we were married for those few hours when you were unconscious, weren’t we?” says Connor. It’s Hank’s turn to blush at this, and he hopes Connor doesn’t notice. It almost sounds like the younger man is flirting, but Hank won’t let himself think that way. _That’s impossible,_ he tells himself. _He is way out of your league, Anderson, don’t make this weird._

Hank chuckles nervously. “Yeah, I guess we were. Can't really remember it, sadly.”  Hank groans internally the second after saying that, but Connor seems delighted.

Connor grins at him and covers his mouth, holding back a surprised laugh. “Well, the honeymoon wasn’t that great, if I’m being honest.” Hank’s so fucked. He tries to quickly change the subject.

“But, what I'd really like to know,” he starts, trying to ignore how flustered the younger man is making him feel, “is how did you get into my apartment that night? I’m pretty sure I locked the door.”

Connor looks guiltily off to the side. “Well...” he starts.

“Yes?” Hank prompts him.

Connor seems to be debating whether he’s going to answer or not. “Okay, I’ll tell you,” he decides.  “You probably won’t like it, though. But I’ll tell you.” Hank waits. A beat, then, “I picked the lock.”

Hank stares at him. “You did what now?”

“Look,” Connor starts hastily. “I know that makes me sound like some sort of criminal-”

“Just a little bit,” Hank interrupts. Connor glares.

“I know it _sounds_ that way, but I promise, I’m not!” Connor seems desperate to make Hank believe him. “My dad was a master locksmith, he was really good with locks. He taught me a lot.”

Hank wants to be skeptical, but God, Connor looks so sincere and his story sounds too stupid to be a lie. “Connor...”

Connor seems to suddenly be struck by an idea. Hastily, he removes his backpack and kneels down to dig through it. “Here, look, I have this little box. I always have it with me. Lockpicking tools, you know?” he says. “Aha!” Triumphantly, he finds what he was looking for and holds it out to Hank to inspect. Sure enough, it has all the basic lockpicking devices.

_He could still be a criminal,_ the logical part of Hank’s brain tells him. He ignores it. “Okay, okay,” Hank tells him. “Ignoring the fact that your dad could have just as easily have been a burglar rather than a locksmith-”

“He was not!” Connor argues, but stops when he sees that Hank’s teasing him. He smiles sheepishly. “Sorry,” he tells Hank. “It’s just the only thing that reminds me of him anymore.”

Hank feels bad for teasing, now. “Nah, kid, _I’m_ sorry,” Hank tells him. “But aside from all that, what made you think it was a good idea to just… pick the lock on my door and barge in here uninvited?” Surely, a normal person would have just given up and left after not getting an answer.

“I heard your dog,” Connor says simply.

“What?” Hank asks him, not comprehending.

“He was going crazy in here,” Connor tells him. “It was like all hell broke loose. He was making so much noise, it was unbelievable. And he sounded… sad. Or worried? I don’t know, it might sound stupid now...” Connor trails off. “… anyway, I was banging really loudly on the door, but you didn’t answer. I guess you were already asleep, or whatever? But I just had this feeling that something wasn’t right, and I… let myself in.”

“A feeling...” says Hank faintly, in disbelief.

“Yes, a feeling,” Connor confirms. “And I was right, wasn’t I? You needed my help!”

“I mean, I guess...” Hank tells him slowly.

“And...” Connor isn’t meeting his eyes now, and Hank already knows that means he’s feeling guilty about something.

“Oh, is there more?” Hank says, tone just a little bit teasing.

“Well, I sort of… came back while you weren’t here and let myself in? Just twice, you were only in the hospital for a little while and I came back each evening,” Connor tells him.

Hank’s surprised at this. “Why?” he asks the younger man.

“Well, I still wanted to talk to you,” Connor tells him. “But when you didn’t answer, I let myself in and took care of your dog, fed him, let him outside, that sort of thing. And maybe cleaned up a bit? I’m sorry, I know that’s probably really weird and overstepping like, a ton of boundaries, but… I like dogs, and I wanted things to be nice for when you got home?”

Hank knows he should probably be disturbed by this revelation, but… _That’s fuckin’ adorable_ , his brain supplies instead. He can’t really remember the last time someone went out of their way to take care of him, to do something nice for him. Some of what he’s thinking must show on his face, because Connor makes a small “oh,” sound and seems a bit sad. Hank’s not having any of that. He quickly schools his expression into something more neutral.

“It’s fine, it’s done with,” he tells Connor. “And I actually really appreciate you lookin’ out for Sumo. I was wondering why the house wasn’t destroyed when I got home. So, thanks,” he finishes, awkwardly. Connor looks relieved. “Why didn’t you just stay here, then, instead of sleeping at the bus stop?” Hank asks him.

Connor frowns. “I wanted to make sure I would be welcome, and I thought that might be pushing it just a bit too much,” the younger man tells him. “I felt okay about being here uninvited when I was taking care of your dog, but I didn’t think I should stay longer than that.”

Hank chuckles. “You’re an interesting one, Connor,” he tells him.

“I find you very interesting too, Hank,” Connor responds, and Hank really thinks Connor might be talking this way on purpose.

“Yeah, alright,” Hank says awkwardly. “So, do you wanna see the room? Put your stuff away or whatever?” Hank clears his throat. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, though, it’s a fuckin’ disaster in there.”

Connor grins. “Of course! And I don’t mind if it’s a bit of a mess, I’m really good at cleaning.”

Hank grimaces. “It’s more than a _bit of a mess_ , Connor.”

“Stop trying to change my mind, Hank,” the younger man scolds him. “It’s not going to work.”

Hank throws his hands up in the air. “Fine, you win, I give up.” Connor shoots him a smile. “Lets go.” Hank leads him down the hall, to the spare bedroom. Outside the door, he pauses. He really hasn’t been in here in… a long time. He can feel Connor staring at him curiously.

“Are you alright, Hank?” the younger man asks, laying a hand gently on his arm.

Hank startles out of his stupor and nods. “Yeah, sorry, it’s just… memories, you know?” Connor nods, even though he obviously doesn’t know, and slides his hand down Hank’s arm, gently squeezing the older man’s hand once. Hank tries not to think about how soft Connor’s hand is in his own, but the younger man doesn’t let go right away. They stand like this, awkwardly holding hands for a moment too long, before Hank shakes his head and throws the door open, trying to ignore the weird tension that seems to have formed between them. He lets go of Connor’s hand and gestures for the other man to enter the room ahead of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> connor kept mitzi's last name, in part cause i dont think anyones done that before and also because being the deviant HUNTer it kinda worked anyway.


	16. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> previously: _Hank startles out of his stupor and nods. “Yeah, sorry, it’s just… memories, you know?” Connor nods, even though he obviously doesn’t know, and slides his hand down Hank’s arm, gently squeezing the older man’s hand once. Hank tries not to think about how soft Connor’s hand is in his own, but the younger man doesn’t let go right away. They stand like this, awkwardly holding hands for a moment too long, before Hank shakes his head and throws the door open, trying to ignore the weird tension that seems to have formed between them. He lets go of Connor’s hand and gestures for the other man to enter the room ahead of him._

Connor stands in the center of the tiny room, taking everything in. Hank leans against the door frame and watches him, wishing he could see his face to gauge his reaction. As it is, he’s being treated to an unimpeded view of Connor’s backside, and he tries very hard not to stare.  It's not much, but Hank would still enjoy getting his hands on it. Very much so. He shakes his head violently, reminding himself to quit perving on his hot, new roommate. Connor turns then and smiles at him, so he thinks he must have done an okay job.

“This room is perfect!” he tells Hank.

Hank narrows his eyes. “Really? Perfect?” he asks. “Are you sure you’re in the same room that I am?” It’s tiny, full of cardboard boxes packed with long-forgotten items. The window doesn’t shut completely, and the curtains flap wildly in the breeze. The constant rain has made the windowsill and the carpet below it damp. A small cot is the only place to sit and sleep. The plaster peels off the walls, and there’s a single lamp, but it’s not on an end table, it sits on top of another cardboard box. Hank would be hard pressed to find anything about this room ‘perfect’. “What about all this shit all over the place?” Hank asks him, gesturing to… everything.

Connor shrugs. “Well, I’ll move some stuff to the side, if that’s okay? Besides, all I really need is a bed to sleep in and a roof to keep out the rain,” the younger man tells him. “Oh, and an outlet. Gotta charge my laptop.” Connor sets his backpack down on the bed and sheds his jacket, leaving him in a white button-up shirt, extremely fitted with the top two buttons undone. Hank tries very hard not to stare, but _fuck, really?_ Connor also toes off his boots, kicking them under the cot unceremoniously. Hank can’t believe that the other man isn’t running in the opposite direction after seeing this shitty room and actually seems to be settling in with the intention to stay. Connor smiles. “Yes, this will do just fine,” he tells Hank.

Hank frowns. “You seem pretty determined to make the best of this,” Hank says, a question. “You said you had some personal reasons for wanting to be here. What are they?”

It’s Connor’s turn to frown now. “It’s a long story. I don’t really wanna bother you with all that,” he tells Hank.

“You’ve been bothered by some pretty personal shit from me already,” Hank tells him. “I’ll settle for the short version, though.”

Connor relents. “Okay. It’s complicated,” he starts. “I’m looking for someone. I don’t really know them, though. They’re like… hmm, a friend of a friend, I guess.”

“A friend of a friend?” Hank asks him. He’s not an idiot, he can tell Connor’s not being completely truthful. But, he lets him continue.

“Yeah,” Connor says. “I’ve only ever talked to them online, so I don’t even know what they look like...” Connor trails off, his eyes darting around. “Oh!” he says, obviously trying to change the subject. “I really like this lamp, does it work?” he asks, wandering over to the cardboard box that doubles as a bedside table.

“Connor,” Hank pushes, seeing right through him.

Connor looks at him guiltily. “Hmm, what was I talking about? Oh, right. I don’t know what they look like, but I do know my way around computers, I used to work in IT,” he tells Hank. “I managed to track them down.”

“Track them down how?” Hank asks, unsure if he really wants to know the answer.  He's pretty sure they don't teach you… _that_ in computer school.

Connor doesn’t tell him, waving his question away. “How’s not important. But it turns out, they live here. In your building. But I don’t know which apartment is theirs. And there are eight apartments here, including yours. I just have to figure out where they are. It shouldn’t be too hard.”

“I’m guessing this person… doesn’t want to be found?” Hank questions.

Connor frowns. “No, probably not. But that’s too bad.”

Hank feels a bit uneasy. “What do you want from… this person?” he asks slowly.

Connor catches onto what he’s implying. “I just want to talk to them,” Connor tells him quickly. “But, they’ve done something. Something horrible. And I need to talk to them, just to get some closure, you know?”

“Something horrible, like what?” Hank asks. “Does this need to be investigated by the police? How bad we talkin’ here?”

Connor balks. “No, no police. That won’t be any help. I just… this is something I need to do. For myself.”

Hank sighs. “Okay, but are you sure that’s all you wanna do? Just talk to them? You’re not gonna whack ‘em when we find them?”

Connor looks surprised. “We?” he asks Hank, uncertain.

_Shit,_ thinks Hank. _Already gettin’ in too deep._ He clears his throat, trying to play it cool. “Well, yeah,” Hank says, nonchalantly. “This sounds like some detective shit. And, I happen to be a detective. You’re gonna need someone who knows this building too, right?” _Yeah, that’s good_.   _Make it sound like you’re just being practical_. 

Connor smiles at him, surprised but pleased by his willingness to help. “Thank you, Hank!” 

Hank’s flustered. He brushes some stray hair out of his face. “Yeah, sure, no problem-”

Before he can finish his thought, he’s almost bowled over by an overeager Connor as the younger man pulls him into a hug. “I really appreciate it,” Connor says lowly. 

Hank’s brain stops working for a second. Belatedly, he wraps his arms around Connor in return. This intimate position makes Hank realize that it’s been so long since another person has touched him at all, let alone embraced him like this. “It’s… it’s not a problem, kid,” Hank tells him.

Connor hums in acknowledgment. “One more thing, Hank,” he says, quietly.

“Yeah?” Hank manages.

Connor stands on his tiptoes, so he can speak quietly to Hank. “I’m not a kid,” he murmurs, lips just barely brushing Hank’s ear. 

Hank suppresses a shiver with incredible difficulty. “No,” he manages to choke out. “I guess you’re not.” He’s definitely flushed red now, and almost 100% certain that Connor has, in fact, actually been flirting with him this entire time. Either that or he is just overly physical with every person he meets. _That’s probably more likely,_ the darker part of Hank’s brain supplies. He tells that part to fuck off.

Connor lets go of him and pulls back, and Hank is pleased to see that the younger man is also blushing, and he seems a bit shy now that he’s actually looking Hank in the eyes. But there’s also a satisfied air about him. “But to answer your earlier question,” he says, as if nothing weirdly sexually charged just occurred between them, “I promise, I just want to talk to them.”

It takes Hank a moment to remember what they were even talking about. “Uhh, right. Okay. If you say so.”

Connor nods. “Really, that’s all,” he repeats. Hank nods. Connor’s eyes suddenly widen, and he looks to Hank. “But God, you’ve been asking me all these questions, and I never even got to ask you how you’re feeling?”

Hank groans. “What do you mean? You asked me that the second we met. I’m fine.”

The look the younger man is giving him tells Hank he doesn’t buy it. “Really? You’ve just been through an awfully traumatic event,” Connor informs him. As if Hank didn’t know that. “You barely survived!” Connor wrings his hands together nervously. “I’m sorry if this is too much, I know we’ve only just met but… why did you do it?”

Hank exhales through his nose. “It’s a long story,” Hank tells him, using Connor’s earlier words against him. “Don’t really wanna bore you with all that shit.”

Connor’s mouth lifts into half a smile. “Guess I had that coming,” he admits. “But, I did give you an abridged version.”

“Uh-huh,” Hank says, sarcastically. “I feel like you omitted a lot of important shit, though.”

Connor chews on his bottom lip. Hank has to look away. It’s damn distracting. “I guess that’s true,” the younger man says. “And I imagine your story isn’t really one that can be condensed into something shorter.”

“Yeah,” Hank lifts his hand and gestures vaguely. “It’s just… a lot,” he finishes lamely, dropping his hand back down to his side.

“Still,” Connor continues, “if you ever need to talk about it, I _will_ listen, Hank.” The sincerity in Connor’s voice takes Hank by surprise, and it’s almost painful how good it feels to have someone seem to genuinely care about him again. He still can’t understand why Connor is even bothering. He’s already got the room, it’s not like he needs to get on Hank’s good side anymore. He feels conflicted, part of him certain that Connor is actually… _interested_ in him, and the other part absolutely convinced that there is no way in hell someone as young and attractive as Connor could want _anything_ to do with someone as old and broken as he is.

“Thanks, kid- Connor,” Hank corrects himself. “I’ll uh, keep that in mind.” Hank feels incredibly awkward. “Let's go back to the living room, yeah?”

Connor nods eagerly and leads the way back out of the room. In the hallway, he turns and smiles at Hank. “So, what do you say? Are we roommates or what?”

Hank’s just about to answer when he sees something that makes his blood run cold. Amanda has appeared behind Connor, floating, wraith-like and transparent. The woman smiles at Hank over the younger man’s shoulder, and wraps her arms around him, a hand coming up to stroke his cheek, gentle but possessive. Somehow, Connor doesn’t notice this at all, and Hank has an ugly suspicion that he is the only one who can see her. Hank takes a startled step back, hand clutching his chest.

Connor looks concerned. “I hope you’re not going to change your mind about this…?” he asks, uncertain. Amanda’s apparition hovers behind Connor, smirking. “Hank?” the younger man asks.

Hank takes a few more steps back, and turns away, covering his face with his hands. He takes several deep breaths to steady himself.

“Hank?” Connor tries again, slowly approaching him.

“Shit, no, Connor, stay back,” Hank warns, hearing him approach. Connor stops instantly. “This is a bad idea,” Hank tells him. “You shouldn’t be here, you have to leave.” He finally turns around to face Connor. Amanda is gone.

The younger man’s face falls. “What do you mean I have to leave?” he asks, obviously confused by the sudden turn in the conversation. “I’m sorry if I did something to upset you, I promise I won’t cause any trouble.”

Hank shakes his head. “No, you gotta go. It’s not safe here for you.”

This clears up absolutely nothing for Connor. “What do you mean I’m not safe?” he asks Hank. “I certainly feel safe here with you right now.” Hank tries to ignore how good those words make him feel, and then something darker enters his thoughts.

_He’s one of them,_ his mind whispers. _A parasite._ “Fuck,” Hank says out loud. “Is this all a game to you?” he demands. “What are you trying to do, come in here, make me let my guard down? Try and get me when I’m not paying attention?”

Connor looks completely lost. “Hank, I’m not… I’m not here to, I don’t know, hurt you? Is that what you’re implying?” Hank’s ready to spiral into despair, thinking that the first person he really left his guard down around in years has just been playing with him. “I promise, I’m just here to rent your room, I definitely don’t want to do anything to hurt you. I… I like you,” Connor tells him. “I can tell that you’re a good person, even after only just meeting you. I wanna continue getting to know you… please, tell me what’s wrong.”

_Why would he have bothered to save you that night if he wanted you dead?_ the more logical part of his brain asks. Connor’s looking at him with those big, stupid (adorable) eyes and Hank starts to settle down. He feels foolish, and confused. “I’m sorry,” he tells Connor.

Connor looks relieved. He walks closer to Hank. “It’s okay, please, just tell me what’s wrong?”

Hank opens his mouth, not sure how he’s really going to explain, when another thought hits him, and it’s just as painful.

“Fuck,” Hank says, devastated, as he looks at Connor. Because of course, if Connor wasn’t a parasite, that’s the only other explanation for Amanda’s presence. “You’re gonna die,” he tells the younger man. Connor’s face falls, and instead of looking confused, like Hank would have expected after hearing such a grim proclamation from a near stranger, he turns away and walks to the other side of the room. Hank hears Connor let out a shaky sigh.

“Yeah,” says the other man quietly. “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :O


	17. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> previously: _“Fuck,” Hank says, devastated, as he looks at Connor. Because of course, if Connor wasn’t a parasite, that’s the only other explanation for Amanda’s presence. “You’re gonna die,” he tells the younger man. Connor’s face falls, and instead of looking confused, like Hank would have expected after hearing such a grim proclamation from a near stranger, he turns away and walks to the other side of the room. Hank hears Connor let out a shaky sigh._
> 
> _“Yeah,” says the other man quietly. “I know.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY yall we gonna get... a lil angsty here. lots of cancer n death talk. hank bein insecure, u know. also, slowburn? we don't know her anymore lmao. look it took 11 chapters for connor to even show up, we've waited long enough.

Hank doesn’t know what to say.  “What do you mean, you know?”

Connor ignores his question.  “But how did _you_ know, Hank?” he asks. “Are you some sort of… psychic?  Just that good of a detective, maybe? Or is it simply _that_ obvious?”  Connor laughs bitterly.

Hank’s confused again. “What are you talking about? I don’t… I don’t fuckin’ know _how_ you're gonna die, I just know that if you stay here, with me, you’re in danger. It won’t end well for you.”

Connor turns to look at him. He’s trying hard to maintain his composure. “You don’t know how, hmm?” he asks. “Well, I do. I know exactly how. I’m already dying, really.”

Hank tilts his head in confusion. “What…?”

“Do you want to see?” Connor prompts. “I’ll show you, but just this once. I’m not going to do it again.”

“Do what-” Hank asks, but stops, as Connor reaches up to his perfectly styled hair, and in one fluid motion, completely removes it. In his hand, he holds a wig, a very convincing one, but a wig nonetheless. Hank stares at him. Connor stares back, daring him to say something. Hank takes it in, this new information, this part of Connor that the younger man seems to hold private.  It looks like his hair is just starting to grow back, barely more than stubble. He looks… different, without hair. Not bad, just different. “I-” Hank starts, but Connor is already pulling his wig back on, looking embarrassed. “Shit,” Hank says, eloquent as ever.

Connor crosses his arms and seems to shrink in on himself. “Yeah,” he says, quietly. “Shit.” Connor can’t meet his eye anymore. “Cancer,” he whispers.

Hank crosses the room and gently cups Connor’s cheek, urging him to look up. Reluctantly, the other does. Hank sees a single tear escape Connor’s right eye, and he wipes it away with his thumb. His other hand rests cautiously on Connor’s hip, and it feels natural. Right. Like he’s supposed to hold Connor like this, supposed to comfort him. “Hey,” says Hank quietly. “It’s alright.” He knows, of course, that it isn’t, but he’s never been good at comforting people. Connor seems to appreciate the effort anyway and gives him a weak smile.

“I’m sorry to spring that on you so suddenly,” Connor says. “I know I look… weird without hair.”

Hank shakes his head. “No, not weird,” he reassures him, repeating his earlier thoughts. “Different is all.”

“Yeah,” Connor laughs, humorlessly. “Different is right.” He sounds upset, but he’s trying to put on a brave front.

“Do you… do you want to talk about it?” Hank asks, unsure. His hand strokes gently down Connor’s cheek and comes to rest against his neck instead. Connor closes his eyes and relaxes into the touch. Hank can feel his pulse, fast and a bit uneven, under his thumb.

“No,” he whispers. “Not right now.”

Hank swallows, mesmerized. “Yeah, okay,” he says, a bit breathlessly. “Not right now...” They stand like this for a while, neither of them wanting to break the spell, not wanting to step outside the intimacy of this little bubble they’ve created. Connor opens his eyes again and looks at Hank, and Hank definitely sees his gaze flick purposefully to his lips and back.   _Oh_ , Hank thinks. He runs his hand back up Connor’s neck and cups his jaw. Connor gives him a watery smile. An invitation.

Just as they start to lean closer, the silence is shattered by a loud bark. They both startle and leap away from each other, turning to see Sumo standing in the doorway looking at them inquisitively. It’s past his dinnertime and he wants food immediately. Hank has never been more annoyed with him than at this very moment. “Un-fuckin-believable,” he mutters. He shoots Connor an apologetic glance, and the younger man just smiles shyly.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs. Hank nods at him, scared the moment has passed but also terrified that it hasn’t.

“Go on,” he tells Connor quietly. “I’ll meet you in the living room. It’s getting late anyway.” Connor nods back, and Hank goes to the kitchen and quickly dumps Sumo’s food into his bowl. “You are the absolute worst,” he tells the dog, only half joking right now. Sumo, of course, ignores him and immediately starts devouring his food, as if he hasn’t eaten in a week instead of a few hours. Hank leaves him to it and heads to the living room to meet Connor.  

He finds the younger man curled up on the sofa, and tries to push down the warm feeling that starts in his chest. Connor looks like he belongs there, like he’s always been part of Hank’s life. _You need to settle down_ , Hank tells himself. _You just met him, quit acting like some sort of lovesick teenager_. He can’t seem to think logically, though.

Connor looks at him, and his gaze is soft, his smile gentle and fond. Hank really can’t believe that look is directed at _him._ He’s glad that he isn’t the only one who seems to be way too interested way too quick, at least. Hank never really bought into the concept of people just… having _instant_ connections with each other but… this is… something.  Before joining Connor on the sofa, he walks over and props the side door open, so Sumo can go out when he’s finished eating and hopefully not disturb them again.

His mind is racing, trying to decide if he’s going to actually _address_ what just happened or ignore it in a panic.  He settles nervously onto the sofa beside Connor, and the other man immediately crawls into his space, curling up against his side. Hank exhales quietly and wraps an arm around him, pulling him even closer. Connor makes a content little noise (which absolutely does _not_ make Hank melt) and rests his head on the older man’s chest.  Decision made, it seems.

Sumo trots through the room and pauses to look at them. Hank glares. “Go on,” he tells the dog, making a shooing motion with his hand. “The door's already open, I thought of everything.” This makes Connor laugh. Sumo turns away from them and slips outside. From their spot on the couch, they can see the rain still falling steadily. It’s dark now, the only light the flickering one on Hank’s shitty little side porch, and a single lamp in the corner of the room. The atmosphere feels very intimate. After awhile, Connor speaks.

“Is this… really okay?” he asks.

Hank stiffens slightly and moves to let go. “Shit, I’m sorry-” he starts, afraid he’s overstepped.

Connor quickly cuts him off, stopping him. “No, I don’t… I don’t mean I don’t want… whatever _this_ is...” he says in a rush, gesturing between the two of them. “I just… to me, this feels like… _more_ than just something casual.” Hank’s glad they’re on the same page there. “It just… doesn’t make sense,” Connor continues. “I barely know you, and yet, I feel like...” he struggles to articulate what he means. Hank relaxes.

“Yeah, I get it,” Hank agrees. “I’m still kinda expecting to wake up and for all of this to have been a really great dream,” he admits. Connor frowns, but Hank keeps trying to explain. “I mean, how could someone like _you_ possibly want anything to do with someone like _me?_ ” says Hank, finally voicing the confusion he felt since he first thought Connor might be flirting with him.

“What do you mean, someone like me?” Connor asks, sitting up to meet Hank’s eyes, looking uncertain.

Hank sputters. “Oh, I don’t know. Someone… incredibly good looking, young, got their whole life ahead of them-” Hank stops, suddenly. “Oh, shit,” he mutters.

Connor looks down. “Not my whole life,” he says quietly, sadly. “They told me I probably have about a year.  Of course, that was six months ago...” Hank swears he feels real, physical pain when Connor says that. Six months… of course. Hank’s finally feeling something other than misery, and of course, there’s an expiration date on that.

“Is that why...” Hank starts, uncertainly. “Is that why you wanna do… whatever this is that we’re doing?” He hates how it sounds, but he needs to know, needs to adjust his expectations if Connor is only coming onto him because he’s gonna be dead in six months anyway and has nothing to lose.

“No!” says Connor quickly, loudly. “That’s not what this is. Not at all.” The look he’s giving Hank is so sincere that Hank couldn’t possibly doubt him. He feels relieved.  “I mean,” Connor continues, “I absolutely _was_ trying to get you to fuck me…” and Hank chokes, sputtering.  ”But, I don't think it's just something physical. It's _more_.”

“Okay, shit, okay,” Hank says, trying to reorganize his thoughts. “You can’t blame me for thinkin’ that, though, I mean, you’re… fuckin’ incredible and I’m just an old, drunk fuckup. Logically, we make absolutely no sense.”

Connor frowns. “Hank,” he says, seriously. “You are exactly my type.” Hank’s face heats up at this. “I find you incredibly good looking, and I’m sure there are many others who would share the sentiment, but that is not the only thing I’m interested in from you, either,” Connor continues, nuzzling his face into Hank’s neck. Hank gasps quietly, feeling Connor’s warm breath as he exhales. “I can’t understand why _you_ would want to do this with _me,_ ” Connor says, hiding his face. “I’m dying, I’m only going to get worse from here,” he says, and Hank holds him tighter. “I don’t have a lot of time left. It feels cruel to want to get close to you, only to leave you so soon.”

Hank knows it’s too late for him to back out of this now, that he was fucked the second he opened the front door and saw Connor standing there.

“Well,” Hank says, trying to sound confident, “I’d say that’s all the more reason to indulge, then. Enjoy it… while you can.” He has a hard time getting those last words out. He feels Connor’s lips press gently against his neck before the other man pulls away, meeting Hank’s gaze again. “Fuck...” Hank breathes. Connor kisses his cheek next before stopping to look at him seriously.

“Are you sure?” he asks.

“Are _you_ sure?” Hank counters.

Connor smiles slightly. “I am.”

Hank really still can’t believe it. It has to all be a fluke. But he doesn’t want to insult Connor by saying that, like he doesn’t trust his judgment. “Well, okay,” he starts. “I trust you. And… this feels good.  Right.” Connor grins, and moves like he wants to kiss him. As hard as it is, Hank stops him, a finger against his lips. Connor frowns. “But,” Hank continues. “It’s been a very long day. A lot of heavy shit went down. And… I would feel better if you took the night to think about it. Sleep on it.”

Connor kisses the finger Hank holds against his lips before pulling back. Hank shudders. “I’ve already made up my mind, Hank,” he tells him seriously. “But I can see that you have a hard time believing that,” Hank opens his mouth to protest, but Connor stops him. “I’m not upset about it,” he assures him. “I understand. And if this is what you need to feel okay about… whatever is going on here, then I can accept that.”

Hank’s relieved. He doesn’t want Connor to jump into this when his emotions are running high, and then look back on it in the light of day with regrets. “Thank you,” Hank tells him, grateful. “And, if you _do_ end up changing your mind, I promise everything will be okay. I won’t kick you out or anything. We can act like none of this ever happened, if you want.” The look Connor is giving him is unimpressed, and Hank is pretty sure the other man isn’t going to budge.

“Well, thank you, I suppose,” Connor tells him, “but your concern is entirely unnecessary. That being said, I’d like to extend the same offer to you. If _you_ feel different about this in the morning, _I_ will not be mad at _you._ ”

Hank snorts. “Yeah, that’s not gonna happen,” he tells Connor confidently.

Connor smiles. “I’m glad we are on the same page, then.”

Hank laughs, feeling lighter than he has in a long time. “Yeah,” he mutters. “Me too.”

As the conversation ends, Connor wiggles away from him impatiently and stands up. Hank looks up at him, confused.

“I’m going to bed now so morning will come sooner and then you will hopefully allow me to kiss you,” he tells him, and Hank can’t help but laugh.

“You’re a fuckin’ trip, Connor.”

“Likewise, lieutenant,” Connor says with a grin and a wink. Hank thinks this boy might actually kill him. He turns to watch Connor make his way to his new bedroom, and Connor pauses before he enters, looking back at him fondly. _Jesus_ , Hank thinks. They look at each other for a moment longer before Connor slips into his room and closes the door behind him, leaving it open just a bit, an invitation for Sumo. Hank snorts, thinking the tiny bed definitely won’t hold the both of them, but Sumo will still absolutely try.

Speaking of Sumo… Hank hauls himself up off the sofa and goes to the side door to call the dog inside. However, he finds him curled up asleep in his doggy bed in the opposite corner of the room. He was so focused on Connor he didn’t even notice the mammoth dog make his way back into the house. _Unbelievable,_ he thinks. He shuts and locks the door, and then makes his way to his own room.

  
Like usual, Hank lays awake for a long time, staring at the ceiling. What’s not usual, however, is that for once, he’s not thinking about how fucked up his life is. He’s thinking about the beautiful man asleep in the room next to his, the one who wants… something with _him_ of all people. He grins, feeling like an idiot but unable to stop himself. He’s glad no one is there to witness it in the dark of his bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> will i ever stop ending chapters w ppl going to sleep? maybe someday. but probably not. i feel a little salkfjdls abt them getting together so fast but, honestly, isnt that what we're here for? and then i think abt how they fell in love in dbh and realize oh, this is not too unrealistic for them at all lmfao. also, the questionable wig physics tag applies from here on out. i tried to keep it in mind thru the whole story, but i also didn't wanna make it Too Big of a thing either soooooooooo. ya know. also dont worry hank is not magically cured of his woes from ~the power of luuuuuuurve~ or whatever, i promise. 
> 
> another chapter in like a second, and also come talk to me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/gaydeviants)


	18. chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> previously: _Like usual, Hank lays awake for a long time, staring at the ceiling. What’s not usual, however, is that for once, he’s not thinking about how fucked up his life is. He’s thinking about the beautiful man asleep in the room next to his, the one who wants… something with him of all people. He grins, feeling like an idiot but unable to stop himself. He’s glad no one is there to witness it in the dark of his bedroom._

Hank wakes up much earlier than he normally would, and for a moment he can’t imagine why that would be. Then, the events of the previous few days come rushing back to him, and he sits up with a start. _Shit,_ he thinks. _Did all that_ actually _happen?_ He racks his brain, trying to pick apart yesterday’s interactions with Connor, trying to find something insincere in the other man’s affections. Try as he might, though, even Hank’s self-esteem challenged mind can’t convince him that Connor is anything but genuinely interested in him. “Huh,” he says quietly, to himself. Still in slight disbelief, he swings his legs over the side of his bed and reluctantly gets to his feet, joints creaking in displeasure.

He crosses over the uneven floor of his bedroom, artfully dodging piles of dirty clothing that he really should have picked up ages ago. As he exits his room, he’s surprised to hear gentle music coming from the record player in the living room, and he can smell coffee brewing in the kitchen, along with some kind of breakfast. Faintly, he hears the sound of Connor humming along, out of tune with the music. _He seems to be in a good mood this morning, then_ , Hank thinks. _That’s good. Doesn’t sound like a person who regrets what happened last night._

Still, not wanting to give Connor any reason to have second thoughts, Hank ducks into the bathroom on his way into the kitchen. He does _not_ want Connor to see him in the same clothes he’s been wearing now for the past 3 days. While brushing his teeth, he notices that the bathroom looks a hell of a lot cleaner than it has in the past… several years. He feels guilty and resolves to remind Connor he doesn’t have to do chores in order to stay here. He doesn’t want the other man to feel indebted to him. He already feels a little guilty about the concept of Connor being interested in something more than friendship between them. Despite the other man telling him otherwise, it’s very hard for him to understand Connor’s interest. He supposes this won’t be easy for him, though, and just hopes his own insecurity won’t get in the way too much, during what little time they’ll have together.

Thinking about Connor’s impending demise is no less painful than it was last night, but Hank forces himself to put that thought on the backburner. He’s got to do his best not to let that overshadow their entire… relationship? _Jesus, quit overthinking shit, you haven’t even talked to him yet,_ Hank scolds himself as he takes a quick shower. Standing under the warm water gives him time to settle down and recollect his thoughts. When he emerges, he’s feeling calmer and more level-headed. He exits the bathroom, towel around his waist, with the intention of going back to his room to quickly get dressed before facing Connor.

“Hank?” he hears the younger man’s voice call out to him as his head pokes out of the kitchen doorway. _Shit,_ Hank thinks. Just what he needs, Connor seeing him like this, seeing what he _really_ looks like. Reluctantly, he turns to face Connor, who is definitely looking at him. Hank’s very taken aback by the look on Connor’s face, though. It’s not disgust or distaste like he would have expected. Not even a little bit. No, Connor is looking at him with desire, and not even trying to hide it. “Oh,” says the smaller man quietly, making his way out of the kitchen towards Hank.

Connor’s dressed in an oversized green and black striped sweater that goes halfway down his thighs, hanging loosely off one of his shoulders and exposing his sharp collar bones. Hank wants to press his mouth to the exposed skin. A flowy black scarf is looped casually around his neck, and he’s wearing black leggings, which Hank thinks is extremely unfair. Distracting.

Connor seems just as distracted by him, though, as the younger man stops carefully in front of him. “Morning...” Hank starts, cautiously.

Connor nods, eyes roaming over Hank, eagerly taking in everything he can, drawn back repeatedly to the large tattoo across his chest.  Hank's got lots of tattoos, all over his body, and he watches Connor make note of each one he can see before returning to the large chest piece. “Yes, good morning,” Connor tells him, finally meeting his eye. “Have you thought about what we discussed last night? Are you still open to the possibility of us having a… romantic relationship?”

“Christ, straight to the point, huh?” Hank teases, and Connor rocks back and forth eagerly on his bare feet, anxious for an answer. He has his hands clasped behind his back, and Hank has the distinct feeling that the younger man is doing that to restrain himself. He can’t bring himself to tease any longer. “Yeah, Connor,” he murmurs fondly. “Yeah, I’m still very open to that possibility.”

Connor’s looks like he’s trying very hard not to let his face dissolve into the largest smile its capable of as he moves fully into Hank’s space and wraps his arms around the taller man’s neck. Hank’s hands want desperately to grab onto the younger man’s hips and pull him close, but he’s still in only a towel and has to settle for just letting one hand gently rest on the other’s waist. He doesn’t want to move things along too fast and scare Connor off. Although he gets the impression that Connor would not turn down his advances.

Hank leans down and rests his forehead against Connor’s. “I’m gonna go get dressed-” he starts, before he’s interrupted from an unhappy noise from his companion, and can’t help but laugh. He squeezes Connor’s waist gently and then pulls back, kissing his forehead. “I’ll get dressed and then meet you in the kitchen because I don’t want whatever you’ve got cooking to go to waste.”

“It’ll be fine reheated,” Connor says, one of his hands sliding up to tangle in Hank’s still damp hair. Hank closes his eyes and sighs contently as he feels Connor’s fingernails scratch gently against his scalp.

“I’m sure, but we’ve gotta talk about some things first, and then later... I promise I’ll give you whatever you want,” he pitches his voice low, and Connor visibly shivers. Hank hopes he can actually deliver on that promise.

“Okay,” Connor relents but doesn’t let go quite yet, displaying a jarring ability to flit from one topic of conversation to another in an instant. “Your boss called while you were in the shower,” he tells Hank, and that certainly kills the mood. Jeffrey is definitely the last thing he wants to be thinking about while he’s standing here, mostly naked, wrapped around an incredibly attractive younger man who somehow seems to be interested in him.

Hank groans. “What the fuck did he want?”

“Hmm, well, at first, he wanted to know who I was,” Connor tells him, and Hank can’t help but laugh.

“And what did you tell him?” he says, with a grin.

“That I was your new live-in boyfriend,” Connor says seriously. “I was hoping that wouldn’t be a lie since I wasn’t actually sure yet.” Hank chokes, entertained and also startled, before Connor gives him a smile and says, “Actually, I just told him I was a friend visiting from out of town, I didn’t want to be presumptuous, I don’t know what you want to call… us. Also, I didn’t want to out you to your boss if he didn't already know.”

Hank smiles. _This kid is so fuckin’ cute…_ he thinks. His slides his hand from Connor’s waist to the small of his back and Connor melts at the contact. _Good to know_. “Well,” Hank tells him, even though he can tell Connor’s only half listening, “we’re… dating now, right?” he asks, not really sure what the protocols even  _are_ for this kind of thing.  Connor nods eagerly, and Hank sighs with relief.  “Well, then you can call me your… boyfriend if you want.”  He can’t believe he’s almost fifty and now he’s got a _boyfriend_ , but despite how awkward it feels for Hank to say, the happy look on Connor’s face when he hears those words more than makes up for that.

“And I think we gotta get to know each other better, so we can learn things like who’s out to who, and all that junk. I wanna know you, Connor, and not just physically.” And _that_ is some of the sappiest shit that Hank’s said in awhile, but he finds that he means it.

Connor’s grinning. “I would like to know you, too, Hank,” he tells the older man, freeing his hand from his silver hair and lightly tracing a fingertip over the tattoo on his chest. Hank is quickly becoming addicted to being touched again, and he exhales heavily. Connor looks like he’s tempted to keep touching him, and Hank won’t deny that he’s definitely interested in that. But, he’s determined to get to know the younger man a little better before jumping right into something physical, and he reluctantly pulls away. Connor pouts, and Hank feels his resolve slipping. Quickly, he tries to distract Connor.

“What else did Jeffrey want?” he asks, and it takes Connor a moment to remember what they were actually talking about.

“Oh,” he says, as it comes back to him. “He told me to tell you, under no uncertain terms, should you attempt to come back to work before you are cleared by their psychiatrist. And that you should call him at some point.”

Hank groans. Of course, Jeffrey found out about his suicide attempt. “I guess that was the straw that broke the camel’s back,” he tells Connor, “I’ve been getting away with bein’ shitty at my job for too long, and Jeff’s been letting it slide, because we’re old friends.”

Connor frowns. “I was under the impression you were very good at your job. Don’t you have to be, to become a lieutenant?”

“Yeah, well, I used to be good...” Hank is reluctant to get into it, even though he just told Connor not five minutes ago that he wanted them to really get to know each other.

Connor seems to sense his hesitation, seems to sense that his mood has shifted. He gives Hank an understanding smile and leans in, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Okay, go get dressed, and then we can have coffee and spill all our deep, dark secrets. Or whatever.”

Hank snorts. “Yeah, okay,” he tells Connor. “Or whatever.” He watches for a moment as the younger man hurries back to the kitchen to check on whatever he’s making, and Hank laments the fact that Connor’s sweater is too long and hides exactly how his ass looks in those leggings. He hopes, maybe, he’ll find out later. Shaking his head, he goes to his room to find something to wear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did yall know kelly got me some fan art for this chapter for christmas? i still cant believe it and i cant look at it without DYING but just [LORK AT IT!!!](https://twitter.com/thewarningtree/status/1071523884543959040?s=19)
> 
> also idk what all of hanks tattoos are, thats up to u lmfao, but super tattooed hank is hot and thats that. and, hanks a little younger than he is in dbh, because coles death happened earlier in his life. i know we havent even established that cole died in this fic yet, but i mean thats a given, right?


	19. interlude IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> previously: _Hank snorts. “Yeah, okay,” he tells Connor. “Or whatever.” He watches for a moment as the younger man hurries back to the kitchen to check on whatever he’s making, and Hank laments the fact that Connor’s sweater is too long and hides exactly how his ass looks in those leggings. He hopes, maybe, he’ll find out later. Shaking his head, he goes to his room to find something to wear._

Hank stands in front of his closet, actually contemplating what he should wear for once. For a long time, it's just been variations of the same drab, dark colors, not so subtly reflecting his mood. He hasn’t really taken care of himself in years, and he knows that it’s obvious. But, he wants to at least make an effort for Connor and decides to take advantage of this rare good mood to do just that.

He finds his best fitting pair of dark jeans, and then browses through his collection of… more eccentric shirts. That used to be _his thing,_ and maybe it will be again. For now, he just settles on a flannel button-up, leaving the top few buttons undone, letting his tattoo peek out. He noticed how interested Connor was in it.

He skips the shoes and just puts on some socks, and, after some consideration, a little bit of cologne. _Fuckin’ actin’ like I’m going on a date in my own goddamn house…_ he thinks. But, Connor has seen him looking pretty fucking bad, and Hank feels the need to prove to the younger man, and perhaps himself, that he can clean up semi-decently.

He ties his hair up in a half-ponytail on top of his head, satisfied that this is about as good as it’s gonna get. With a shrug, he leaves his room and heads to the kitchen to meet Connor. The younger man is standing by the stove, just finishing whatever he’s been making. Hank wanders closer and wraps his arms around him from behind, unable to resist.

Connor jumps slightly as Hank hooks his head over his shoulder, curious to see what he’s making. Just eggs and sausage, but Hank can’t really remember the last time he had something that didn’t come prepackaged and frozen. His slightly sad thoughts are interrupted, however, when Connor leans back against him, distracting him with how perfectly their bodies seem to fit together. He was kind of expecting this, but it’s still a shock to feel Connor pressed up against… all of him.

Hank exhales slowly, trying to calm down a little bit. Connor laughs. “Everything okay, Hank?” he asks innocently, turning off the stove and moving the pan to the side.

“Fuckin’ peachy,” Hank tells him lowly, pulling Connor even closer, barely resisting the temptation to grind against him. Instead, uses one hand to shift Connor’s scarf to expose his neck, long and pale. He leans in and presses a soft kiss to the newly bared skin, and hears Connor’s gasp of surprise. The younger man trembles slightly, and Hank can’t help but grin. It seems like it has been Connor’s goal to fluster him, and he’s glad to have the upper hand for once.

He kisses slowly up his partner’s neck, and the whole thing feels so fucking tender it’s surreal. When he sucks gently at the skin just below Connor’s jaw, the smaller man lets out a breathy, “oh, Hank...” and Hank has to firmly remind himself of his resolve to take things slow. Still, he can’t resist leaving a mark on the younger man’s pristine skin, pressing sucking, open-mouthed kisses all over his neck before reluctantly pulling away.

Connor turns around to look at him, face flushed, pupils blown wide. Hank feels… pretty damn good about himself, seeing how worked up he’s gotten Connor just from kissing his neck. “You tease me,” the other says with a pout, and Hank can’t help but lean in and capture that pout with his own lips in their first actual kiss.

Connor didn’t seem to be expecting that and freezes for a second, but before Hank can even think about pulling back, the younger man has his hands around his neck and tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. Hank grins into the kiss and rests his large hands against Connor’s hips, thumbs rubbing soothing circles over the clothed skin. Connor is frantic at first, but he calms down once he realizes that Hank isn’t going to stop him.  

Soon the kiss becomes slow, sensual. Hank gently deepens the kiss, and he hears Connor make a quiet noise in his throat when their tongues brush for the first time. He takes his time exploring Connor’s mouth and then yields to let Connor do the same. It all feels so _fucking loving_ and Hank’s chest aches in the _best possible way_ and he _never_ wants to stop kissing Connor...

However, stupid shit like having to breathe gets in the way, and he reluctantly pulls back. When he opens his eyes, Connor is looking at him with the sappiest fucking smile, and Hank reaches up, gently cupping the other’s face with his hand. Connor’s eyes flutter closed again, and he leans into the touch. Hank knows he will do whatever it takes to keep Connor looking this happy for as long as he can.

Connor leans in and kisses him quickly once more, and then busies himself making sure their breakfast hasn’t gotten cold. Hank shakes himself out of his kiss-induced stupor and walks to the cabinet to get them some plates and utensils, trying to hide the huge grin on his face. It all feels so fucking domestic.

Hank never believed in fate, but right now, getting breakfast ready with Connor in his kitchen, he almost feels like they were meant to meet. Meant to enter each other’s lives at just the right time. _Fuck, crazier things have happened_ , thinks Hank. _I’ve died twice over the past week._ He sets the plates on the tables and contemplates that thought, torn.

Hank doesn’t really like to think that he has no control over his own fate, that everything was predestined without him having any say.  Fate deciding who he falls for? He just doesn't buy it.

But, Amanda had said that the parasites destinies were bound together, so maybe… other people’s can be, too.  Regardless, his feelings for Connor… and about Connor… are his own. They just have to be.

_If fate is real, though, it’s got a fucked up sense of humor._ He shakes his head, not really sure what to think, only that he’s glad that Connor showed up on his doorstep that night. Whether it was something like fate or just a random happenstance doesn’t really matter. All that matters to him, right now, is that he’s sitting down and eating breakfast with Connor, and he finally feels okay for the first time in a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hank gets fuckin philosophical and smooches his new bf
> 
> next chapter is pretty intense, so i needa go over it again and ill post more in a day or two. i doing pretty good at posting every other day rn, we'll see if i can keep that up.


	20. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> previously: _If fate is real, though, it’s got a fucked up sense of humor. He shakes his head, not really sure what to think, only that he’s glad that Connor showed up on his doorstep that night. Whether it was something like fate or just a random happenstance doesn’t really matter. All that matters to him, right now, is that he’s sitting down and eating breakfast with Connor, and he finally feels okay for the first time in a long time._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow okay so this one is pretty intense, heed the warning tags in the beginning. 2day we r learning connor's tragic back story and theres lots of terminal illness and suicide, and not just abt hanks attempt. past character death via suicide is elaborated on in this one so pls exercise caution!!!!

After they eat, Hank finally gets around to having a mug of coffee. Black, with just a little bit of sugar. Connor’s own is loaded up with so much cream and sugar Hank can’t even be sure if there is any actual coffee in it, but, like everything else about Connor, he finds that fucking endearing. Hank suggests they move to the side porch, to ‘spill all their deep, dark secrets’, as Connor had put it earlier.  Connor eagerly agrees, pulling on his boots to protect his feet from the chilly March air.

They make their way outside, followed closely by Sumo. Hank offers his shitty folding chair to Connor, but the other just shakes his head and climbs up onto the half-wall beside the chair after shoving Hank’s ashtray out of the way. _Fuckin’ adorable._ The younger man leans back against the wall of the house, stretching his legs out in front of him. Sumo bounds around the yard, but Hank barely notices him, eyes running hungrily over the expanse of Connor’s legging-covered limbs. Connor catches him staring and grins, and Hank just shoots him a grin right back, leaning into his space to steal a lingering kiss before settling into his chair. They’re silent for a few moments, staring out into the yard, watching Sumo play. The rain has finally stopped, but it’s still overcast, and the air feels heavy.

Hank knows they’re going to have to talk about… some things. About Connor’s cancer, about this person he wants to ‘talk to’, about why Hank tried to kill himself… but he tries to ease into it with a lighter topic. “So, it finally stopped fuckin’ raining,” he says, and then immediately winces. _Of course. Talk about the fuckin’ weather. Riveting conversation._

Connor doesn’t seem to mind that his new partner apparently has misplaced his brain and also his conversation skills, because he nods. “I don’t actually mind the rain too much,” he tells Hank. “Sometimes, I even like it. But, it looks like the fog is starting to roll in. Fog, I don’t like,” Connor shudders. Hank has the urge to leap up and get him a blanket but resists. He doesn’t think Connor is shivering because of the temperature.

“Not a fan of fog, eh?” Hank asks, letting Connor elaborate.

Connor shakes his head. “Not at all. I hate it,” he tells Hank seriously. “When I was really young, probably only like eight, I got lost in the fog. I was sure a monster was going to get me. I was so scared at the time. It seems silly now, I’m sure-”

Hank stops him, resting a hand on his thigh. “Nothing that upsets you is silly,” he tells Connor in a gentle voice, and Connor’s face softens. He rests a hand on top of Hank’s, continuing his story.

“And now I know, really, the only monsters are humans. Humans are capable of such unimaginable cruelty...” His hand tightens over Hank’s, and Hank nods in absolute agreement. He’s seen first hand just how cruel humans can be. He’s got a theory forming, so he asks Connor to confirm it.

“This person you wanna find...” Hank starts, cautiously. Connor tenses. “Are they… a monster?”

Connor’s quiet for a long time, and for a while Hank thinks he might just ignore his question altogether. But finally, the smaller man takes a deep breath and exhales it slowly. “Yeah,” he tells Hank. “They really are.”

Hank squeezes his thigh gently. “Do you wanna… tell me about them? What they did?”

Connor nods slowly. “It’s a long story, though,” and Hank waves his free hand dismissively.

“I’ve got nowhere else to be, babe,” he says, and Connor seems to _really_ like to hear Hank call him that, relaxing minutely.

“Okay,” Connor nods. “It all kind of starts with me. When I got sick.” Hank turns in his seat, so he can face Connor, and give him his full attention. “I didn’t mean to tell you about it the way I did,” Connor tells him, looking embarrassed. “I just. I really needed to get this room. And I was desperate, you know?” Hank nods, urging him to continue. “And you were so upset, and I didn’t know what else to do,” Connor pauses, looking at Hank questioningly. “What… what _was_ wrong yesterday? Why _did_ you get so upset so suddenly?” Hank dismisses his question for the moment.

“It’s a long story, and I promise, I _will_ tell you later. As soon as I figure out a way to explain it without sounding totally fuckin’ crazy.”

Connor looks confused at that but accepts it with a nod. “Okay. This is just…  This is the last and most important thing I need to do. I have to accomplish this mission, so to speak.” He says it with such finality that Hank has to do everything in his power not to spiral off and get emotional about Connor’s mortality. This is important, and he needs to be totally present. As painful as it is to think about, this is what he’s going to have to deal with if the two of them are going to have a future together, no matter how limited.

“Con,” Hank asks after another moment of quiet contemplation, “what kind of cancer is it?” Hank needs to know, and at the same time wishes he didn’t.

“Glioblastoma,” Connor tells him, without any emotion.  Hank's face must show he has absolutely no idea what that means because Connor takes pity on him and says, “an incredibly aggressive brain tumor.  Inoperable, naturally.”

“Isn’t there… anything that can be done?” Hank asks, feeling useless.

Connor grimaces. “They’ve tried. But...” he trails off, and Hank knows it was a stupid question to begin with. He doesn’t know what to do. He bites back the urge to offer sympathy, knowing Connor won’t want that. He adjusts his hand and laces their fingers together, and Connor seems to take strength from that.

“So, yeah, back to this person I need to find,” says Connor, and Hank squeezes his hand gently. “I had a brother, did you know?” he asks rhetorically. “Niles, his name was. He’s dead now.” Hank’s quiet for a beat, searching for something to say. Connor doesn’t seem to expect a response, though he pauses and looks at Hank. “Are you sure you want to hear this?” he questions. “It’s… rather miserable. I don’t want to bring you down.”

Hank’s heart aches. Even in his misery, Connor is worried about  _his_ feelings. “Oh, baby,” Hank murmurs gently, standing so he can cradle his face and look directly into his eyes. “I want to hear whatever you want to tell me. I want to help you like you’ve already helped me.”

Connor breathes out a shaky sigh and looks gratefully at Hank. “Thank you,” he whispers. Hank says nothing, just leans in and kisses him slowly. He’s never been good with words, has always been better at expressing himself through actions. And right now, he hopes that Connor can feel just exactly how much he wants to support him, how much he wants to take care of him.  This isn’t about lust, but about genuine affection and a desire for closeness.

Connor makes a pleased noise and turns fully so that his body faces Hank, his legs now dangling over the half-wall he’s perched on. Hank lets go of Connor’s face and rests his hands on the other man’s thighs, spreading his legs just enough so that he can stand between them, and Connor immediately wraps his legs around Hank’s waist, pulling him closer.

Hank feels heat flare in his gut but ignores it. This isn’t the time. Connor seems to have the same idea and doesn’t press them tightly together, just lets their bodies barely touch while they kiss. Hank’s hands move to rest on Connor’s waist, and Connor’s arms wrap around Hank’s neck. If the situation weren’t so serious right now, Hank could easily picture this turning into something else, something frantic. But for now, the two kiss languidly, taking comfort in one another.

When they finally separate for air Connor rests his forehead against Hank’s chest and the two wrap their arms around each other. Hank feels dampness against his shirt and he knows Connor is crying, but he just rubs the other man’s back soothingly. “Thank you,” Connor whispers again, voice so full of gratitude, and Hank gently kisses his temple.

“Whatever you need,” he tells him, truly meaning it. Connor pulls away from his embrace and moves over, patting the space on the wall beside him, inviting Hank to sit by his side. Hank does, and Connor scoots close while Hank wraps an arm around him. Just like last night.

“Anyway,” Connor says with a sniff, finally ready to continue. “Niles is the main reason I’m here.” He rests his head on Hank’s shoulder. “It’s hard to know where to start, really.”

“Wherever you want,” Hank tells him. “It doesn’t have to go in order, it doesn’t even have to make sense. Just… start where you think is best.”

Connor ponders this. “Hm. Well, Niles and I were always very close. He was younger than me, but you wouldn’t have been able to tell by looking at us,” Connor says, a ghost of a smile in his voice. “ _He_ was the one always looking out for  _me_ , always making sure I was okay. I never really had many friends growing up,” Connor drums his fingers nervously against his leg. “I had Niles, and I didn’t really think I needed anyone else. I’m pretty sure he felt the same.”

Hank nods encouragingly. “Sounds like a great brother.”

“The best,” Connor quickly agrees. “But, when I got sick… he didn’t handle it very well.” Yeah, Hank imagines not. “He actually thought I was joking at first,” says Connor with a quiet huff. “We were always playing stupid pranks on each other, you know? Just dumb, brother stuff. I remember he told me to stop fucking around, that it wasn’t funny… and then I started crying and he realized I was being serious.” Connor pauses, and Hank lets him gather himself. “He got… really angry. Not at me, exactly, but it still felt that way, you know? He just stormed around our apartment for a while, and then he got really quiet and just… left without another word to me. He didn’t come home all night, and he wouldn’t answer my calls. I was so scared…

When he finally came home the next evening, he wasn’t the same. He was… desperate. He begged me to try surgery, chemo… I didn’t really want to do those things, didn’t want my life to end that way. But, I did the chemo for him. For a while, anyway. It didn’t help, and I hadn’t expected it to. It just made me feel… so shitty. Like I was already dead.” Connor trails off, and Hank feels his heart breaking for him, this beautiful young man who doesn't deserve any of the shit that life has thrown at him.

Connor curls closer to Hank’s side and continues his tale. “I’ll admit, I was really wrapped up in my own sadness at the time, and I didn’t actually notice just how it was all affecting Niles. Maybe if I’d paid closer attention to him...”

Hank tightens his arm around Connor slightly. “You can’t think like that,” he tells the other man gently. “I know that’s easier said than done, but blaming yourself doesn’t help.” Hank knows he’s being the world’s biggest hypocrite right now, but he’s desperate to convey to Connor that none of this is his fault.

“I know...” Connor murmurs. “Still, it’s difficult...” and Hank nods.

“I know, baby,” he says.

Connor finally looks up at him with the barest hint of a smile on his face. “I like when you call me that,” he tells Hank quietly.

Hank gives him a small grin. “I thought you might...” he trails off, closing the distance between them and kissing Connor softly. He knows Connor hasn’t gotten to the most difficult part of the story yet, and he doesn’t want to distract his companion before he’s finished, but he needed to make the other feel just a bit better, if only for a moment. Connor hums contently into the kiss, and Hank counts that as a small victory. When they separate, Hank reaches up and gently strokes the other man’s cheek. Connor is staring at him with such a look of adoration that it’s almost painful, but he’s sure the same look is mirrored on his own face. “You think you can finish telling me about this, Con? We can take a break if you want.”

Connor shakes his head. “No, I would like to get it over with, as it were,” he tells Hank decisively. Hank nods. Connor is quiet for a moment, likely thinking about where to start again. “Hmm… Well, after that, Niles got… really weird. Like, even weirder than normal. He became… obsessed with the thought of death. I mean, Niles was always kind of… into that whole thing, you know?” Connor tugs at the sleeves of his sweater. “Most of the clothes I wear were his, actually. Makes me feel closer to him...”

Hank honestly _had_ been wondering about Connor’s sense of style, it seemed a little too… _much_ for such a soft-spoken and oddly formal man. Connor continues. “I mean, it’s not a stretch to think that someone like Niles would be… interested in death?” Connor actually laughs at this. “I used to make fun of him, called him emo. He would get so pissed off, the pretentious idiot...”

Connor sighs, and Hank can tell that the brief happy memory was not nearly enough to help him get through the rest. But, he presses on. “So, yeah, Niles turned up the morbid factor by a _lot._ It was like death was the only thing he could think about. Even though _I_ was the one dying… but he wanted to change that.” Hank’s not sure what that means, but he has a feeling it’s not good. “He was so distant, he barely talked to me in those last few months. It really hurt, I kept begging him to just make the most of what we had _right now_ , but he wouldn’t hear it. He was distracted by something. Looking for something. God, if I had known...”

Connor stops again, takes a few deep breaths. Hank runs a hand soothingly up and down his back. “I guess, he found what he was looking for. Or maybe… it was the other way around. What he was looking for found him.” Connor’s words are ominous, and Hank feels dread building in his stomach.

“There’s like, these forums online, you know? Most of them are harmless, people coming together to talk about common interests… But, Niles was spending a lot of time on one that wasn’t… so harmless. It was about suicide. And that’s where he met… him.”

“The person you wanna find?” Hank guesses, and Connor nods, something dangerous flashing in his eyes.

“There’s a guy on the forum, calls himself ‘The Eye of Elijah’, which is just so fucking stupid, Niles would have made fun of him for hours had he been himself. From what I can tell, most of the forum is… okay? It mostly seemed like people helping each other, people who attempted suicide but survived. A kind of support group, I guess. But… there was a subsection of the forum that Elijah seemed to be the leader of. He was like a huge fucking deal.”

Hank hasn’t heard Connor swear this much since they first met, and he can tell this is really getting to him. They’re getting close, now, to the end of the story. Hank already knows the outcome, knows there isn’t a happy ending, and that breaks his heart for Connor.

“Elijah is… a death advocate,” says Connor scornfully. “He’d find someone vulnerable, someone desperate, and then he’d attach himself to them like a parasite.”  Hank’s heart skips a beat at Connor’s particular choice of word. Could this Elijah be…? He halts his runaway thoughts for the moment, realizing Connor is still talking.

“He’d try to convince them that death _was_ the only option, that they  _should_ kill themselves. And you’d think, ‘Well, who would listen to some random asshole on the internet?’ but… if you’re in a bad place, and this guy acts like he cares, acts like he’s your friend...” Connor trails off.

“You could latch onto that pretty quick,” Hank finishes for him, and Connor nods.

“It was so fucking bizarre,” Connor continues. “I went back through their messages, after… everything. Elijah had Niles completely brainwashed, and Niles didn’t even realize it. He was always the smart one, I was supposed to be the naive one. But Niles was desperate. He thought he’d found the perfect solution to our problem.

He sat me down one day, calm as anything, and told me. He’d barely spoken to me in the past few months, and now here he was, telling me our only option was to… to die together. To kill ourselves. He didn’t want to be apart from me, he said. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. He sounded so sure of it, like it was just inevitable, the practical solution. He said it would be quick, painless, like that would be some kind of selling point for me!” Connor’s getting worked up now, and Hank has a pretty good idea about where this is all going.

“Jesus...” he breathes, and that seems to pull Connor out of the fit of anger that’s brewing under his skin, and bring him back to the present.

The younger man clears his throat and visibly forces himself to calm down. “Elijah had helped him plan everything. We just needed two really easy to find household chemicals. Mix them together, and there you have it.  The perfect tool for the perfect suicide,” Connor tells him bitterly. Hank wants to comfort him, but he honestly has no idea what to say at this point. “I told Niles he was out of his fucking mind. How could he do this, how could he even suggest this to me? Why would he just throw his life away like that?” Hank shifts uncomfortably. Connor pauses and looks at him apologetically. “Oh, Hank, I didn’t mean-”

Hank cuts him off. “Shhh, don’t worry about me,” he soothes Connor. “Please, keep goin’. If you can.”

Connor nods. “Well, Niles would _not_ let it go. He tried to reason with me, and when that didn’t work he begged me, and eventually… we just started screaming at each other. We _never_ fought like that before. It was awful...” Connor’s speaking quieter now, the weight of his bad memories hanging over him. “Finally, he told me he was done arguing, and that he was going to get everything prepared and he’d meet me in the park where we used to play as kids. He told me to meet him there at 5 a.m. ‘Don’t be late, Connor’, he told me, and just… left. That was the last thing he ever said to me.” Connor’s trembling now, and Hank can tell that he’s started to cry, tears making it harder for him to speak.

“I just… I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t believe it. I was so upset, I cried for hours. And I was… really pissed at him, too. How _dare_ he put me in this position, you know? Part of me didn’t believe he was actually serious. I felt like he was almost… punishing me, making _me_ feel like I was losing _him_ , to feel the pain he’d been feeling. I don’t know. I was just so exhausted, everything felt like it was falling apart all at once.” Connor goes silent for a moment, and Hank says nothing, just lets him gather himself.

“At one point, I even tried to convince myself that he was right, that I _should_ do it. Niles was the person I loved most in the world, the person I trusted more than anything, he had to have my best interests at heart, right? But… I just couldn’t. I couldn’t do it...” Hank is honestly impressed with Connor’s strength. If he had been in his position he thinks he might have buckled pretty damn quick. Connor sighs, steeling himself for the conclusion.

“Chemo had been leaving me tired and I guess I fell asleep because I woke up hours later and it was almost 5. I… I’d never felt panic like that before. Even when they told me I had cancer. That pales in comparison to the sheer _dread_ that I felt then. I left our apartment in a rush, I didn’t even put my fucking shoes on… I just had to get to Niles before it was too late. But, I think, deep down I knew it already was. I just didn’t want it to be true.” Connor lets out a shuddering breath.

“I got there and I saw our shitty little car, the only car in the entire parking lot. I’m not an idiot, I knew what I was going to find. But still, I had to be sure… So I walked up to it. Niles had put fucking signs on the windows, warning people not to open the doors, because it was dangerous. Elijah has the templates up on the forum, can you believe it? He cared more about random people that might happen upon the car than he did my little brother.” Connor doesn’t say anything more, but he doesn’t need to. Hank knows exactly what he found in that car.

Connor’s crying in earnest now and Hank stands so he can wrap him in a tight hug. The smaller man clings to him.

“Niles was the only person I had in this world and he left me alone…” he chokes out. “How could he do that to me?  And I feel horrible even _thinking_ that let alone saying it. I don’t really blame _him_ , though. Not anymore.”

Hank kisses the top of his head, and he knows exactly who’s really to blame. This Elijah prick, this guy who apparently lives _in his fucking building._ Hank _hopes_ they find him, and if Connor doesn’t at _least_ beat the shit out of him, he’ll do it himself. But right now, he has something much more important to focus on than his own anger.

Gently, he takes Connor’s face in his hands, tilting his head up so they can look at each other. Connor’s face is wet with tears and Hank carefully wipes them away. “Hey,” he says quietly. “I know it’s not the same, but you’re not alone anymore, Connor,” Hank tells him firmly. “I’m gonna help you find the jackass who took your brother from you and he’s gonna get what’s coming to him. And then I’m gonna take care of you. I’m gonna be with you until...”  the unspoken _‘until you die’_ hangs heavy in the air around them.

Connor’s face crumples and he starts crying again. Hank panics, thinking he said the absolute wrong thing, but Connor pulls him down for a kiss, hard and quick. Hank can taste Connor’s tears on his lips when the younger man pulls away.

“Thank you, Hank,” Connor says, reaching up to touch his face, almost reverently. Hank turns his head slightly and kisses the palm of Connor’s hand. He can’t believe he’s gotten this fuckin’ sappy.

“I'm not letting Elijah get away with what he's done,” Connor tells him, dangerously serious.  Hank nods.

“Anything you need,” Hank tells him again. He still means it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im sorry its a little longer than planned between updates, real life is suddenly. a lot. my car broke down for the third time since november so ive been stressing trying to find a new one that i can afford while also thinking abt getting a new job and sldkfjsdlkfds. its been a lot. but on the bright side i started writing some sequel material!!!! 
> 
> anyway i changed it to connor's brother instead of his lover killing themselves because a)there was no character i felt rly encompassed the love that mitzi had for jack, b) hankcon r the loves of each others lives, and c) connor wouldnt have been interested in getting w hank after losing his lover a month ago sooooo. yeah. also, we're not talking about the chemicals. i know its a long shot but it just felt. kinda irresponsible to name them heh. im gonna post a few more chapters right now.


	21. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> previously: _“Thank you, Hank,” Connor says, reaching up to touch his face, almost reverently. Hank turns his head slightly and kisses the palm of Connor’s hand. He can’t believe he’s gotten this fuckin’ sappy._
> 
> _“I'm not letting Elijah get away with what he's done,” Connor tells him, dangerously serious. Hank nods._
> 
> _“Anything you need,” Hank tells him again. He still means it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay i jsut want to let u know this next section is so fuckin over the top and melodramatic lmfao like. its wild. when ur playin it in the game its like yeah okay that happens but actually sitting down and writing it? i was like what the fucking............. this one isnt so bad but the next two are fuckin buckwild. i didnt make this up this is a plot in an actual game lmao. ooook here we go.

Hank isn’t sure how long the two of them stand there in silence, holding each other. It’s a lot for him to take in, and he’s sure that it took a lot out of Connor to tell him the story. He doesn’t say anything, letting Connor calm down at his own pace. Finally, the younger man takes a deep breath and looks up at him. Hank is pleased to see his face is dry, that he’s no longer crying.

“So,” Connor starts, still sounding a bit shaky, “now you know all about my tragic past.” He puts on a brave face, but Hank knows he’s still hurting. “Would you like to tell me about yours?”

Hank knew this was coming, but still, he stiffens, reluctant to share. Quickly, he tries to come up with an excuse. “I dunno, baby,” he murmurs, running a hand gently over Connor’s cheek “It’s been a long day, are you sure you wanna hear about… all my shit now? We can wait until tomorrow if you want.”

Connor leans into his touch, but Hank can tell the younger man isn’t going to let him off that easy. “Stop trying to distract me, Hank,” he tells him sternly. Hank chuckles guiltily at being caught.

“Worth a try...” he mutters.

Connor purses his lips slightly. “I understand you’re reluctant to open up, Hank,” he tells him. “I won’t ever force you to talk about something if you don’t want to. I just want to understand you, to be able to help you any way I can.”

Hank sighs. “I know, sweetheart,” he mumbles. “I haven’t really… opened up to anyone in a long time. But, I wanna. With you. It’s just gonna be difficult, probably. Like pullin’ teeth.”

Connor stands on his tiptoes to press their lips together quickly. _Fuckin’ cheater,_ Hank thinks as he returns the kiss. “Why don’t we start with something a little more recent, then?” Connor asks.

Hank is already distracted, his brain shifting gear to wanting nothing more than to keep kissing Connor. “Hmm?” he asks, sounding incredibly intelligent.

Connor rolls his eyes. “Do you want to tell me about the pile of bloody clothes I took out of the bathroom earlier today?” the younger man asks him.

Hank freezes. Connor is looking at him, questioning but not accusing. “Shit, uh, Connor...” he starts, really not sure how he’s going to explain this to him without sounding crazy and/or like he needs to arrest himself. Before Hank has to come up with a clever explanation, however, a loud noise from out in the yard startles them both. Hank holds Connor slightly tighter for a moment, his instinct to protect a strong one. The sound sends Sumo into a frenzy, barking loudly from out in the fog. Hank had almost forgotten he was out there.

“What do you think that noise was?” Connor asks him.

Hank shrugs. “I dunno, probably one of the neighbor’s fuckin’ cats, they’re always hanging around, pissing off Sumo...” The dog’s barking doesn’t stop, however, and Hank sighs. “Sumo, come on, get the fuck back here, it's time to go inside!” he calls out. Hank frowns when the sound of Sumo’s barking seems to get farther away. There aren’t very many places to go in their tiny side yard. Reluctantly, he lets go of Connor and shoves his feet into a pair of old boots, making his way down the two steps and into the perpetually dry grass. Even after the near constant rain for the past two days, it’s still dead and brittle.

The fog is dense, Hank can barely see a foot in front of him. He stomps through the yard, calling for Sumo, but the dog doesn’t respond. When he gets to the edge of his property, he’s very surprised to see that a whole section of the fence has fallen down. He thought that thing would be standing even longer than the building would be. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that Sumo saw the opportunity and took it, leaving the confines of the yard to find bigger and better things to sniff.

“Looks like Sumo hopped the fence,” he calls back to Connor, annoyed. “I’m gonna go chase him down.”

“Hank, be careful,” Connor replies. Hank can hear the slight tremor in his voice. Right, Connor doesn’t like the fog.

“Don’t worry, babe,” Hank calls back to him. “I’ll just be a minute, he’s a big fuckin’ dog, he can’t have gone far. You go inside, I’ll be with you in just a sec.”

“… Okay,” Connor relents. “But we’re not finished with this conversation!”

Hank can’t help but chuckle quietly. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he answers. At least this will give him a few moments to try and decide what to tell the other man. He waits until he hears the side door close, signaling that Connor has gone back inside before he leaves his yard and goes looking for his idiot dog.

“Sumo!” he calls out, trying to see through the dense fog. “Fuckin’ dog...” he mutters to himself. He’s made his way out onto the sidewalk, now. He doesn’t see the animal control van parked against the curb until he practically runs into it. It’s white, nearly blends in with the fog. Large, bright red letters read ‘Ortiz’s Animal Control’ in a font that looks like it would be more appropriate on a horror movie poster. The sight of it jogs something in his memory, but he can’t put his finger on it. He dismisses the thought for now. He’ll remember later if it’s important.

As he moves to continue on his search, a man exits the back of the van directly in front of him. He’s shorter than Hank, and larger, with dark eyes and thinning dark hair and a beard. As Hank goes to step around him, the man moves in the same direction he does. Hank gives him a half-hearted “Sorry,” and moves in the opposite direction. Again, the man blocks his way.

“Fucking fog, huh?” the man says, and Hank rolls his eyes. He tries yet again to move around the man, but once again finds his way blocked. Once, even twice, Hank would have thought it was a coincidence. Now he thinks the guy might just be trying to annoy him.

“Okay, can you cut that shit out?” he barks, annoyed.

“Can hardly see anything out here,” the man continues, ignoring Hank. “Someone could be gettin’ murdered three feet away, and nobody would even know.”

Hank now feels incredibly uneasy. Perhaps this isn’t just someone wanting to annoy him out of boredom. He takes a half step back, and the other man moves closer.

“At least it’s not raining though, right?” he asks Hank, a strange glint in his eye. “What’s your name? Mine’s Carlos.” Hank doesn’t say anything, but that doesn’t deter the man. “Oh, don’t be shy,” he goads. “You’re Hank, aren’t you? A nice man told me what you look like.”

“What the fuck do you want?” Hank asks. He wants nothing more than to get away from this weirdo, find his dog, and get back to Connor. His partner must be getting anxious.

“I’m just here on a job,” Carlos tells him. “I got a call, you know? Apparently, there’s a dog problem here. And some crazy old guy who plays music too loud. A crazy old guy named Hank, the nice man said.”

_Fuckin’ Perkins…_ Hank thinks in disbelief.

“He didn’t say nothing about the prettyboy, though,” Carlos continues, and Hank tenses, ready to fight at the mention of Connor. “I watched you two for a while, you know? Needed to get you alone.  Took out the fence. He’s not paying me to take care of the other one.” Carlos takes a step closer to him. “But maybe I’ll come back and _visit_ him. On my own time.  He seems very sweet,” the shorter man says suggestively.

Hank sees red, the threat against Connor freezing him for half a second before his hand curls into a fist, ready to fight. But before he can even get one hit in, he feels the sharp sting of a needle in his neck. Almost instantly, everything becomes fuzzy. He can’t keep his balance, he feels weak. He thinks he can hear Sumo barking, too far away. Carlos hoists him up and bundles him into the back of his van.

“You’re not gonna like this, but I’m taking you for a ride,” he informs Hank. “Sorry,” he says, sounding anything but. Hank struggles in vain to break free, to get back to Connor. He has just enough time to think _not this shit again_ before he loses consciousness.

 


	22. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> previously: _Hank sees red, the threat against Connor freezing him for half a second before his hand curls into a fist, ready to fight. But before he can even get one hit in, he feels the sharp sting of a needle in his neck. Almost instantly, everything becomes fuzzy. He can’t keep his balance, he feels weak. He thinks he can hear Sumo barking, too far away. Carlos hoists him up and bundles him into the back of his van._
> 
> _“You’re not gonna like this, but I’m taking you for a ride,” he informs Hank. “Sorry,” he says, sounding anything but. Hank struggles in vain to break free, to get back to Connor. He has just enough time to think not this shit again before he loses consciousness._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY things r starting to get pretty crazy. again, its over the top and i didnt come up with this plot lmfao. so we got. kidnapping, blood, gore, suicide, fuckin..... unfortunate encounter with bleach, i guess some kind of stockholm syndrome, implied cannibalism, implied threats of sexual assault, its... a lot.

The next time Hank opens his eyes, he’s in what appears to be a derelict laundry room.  His one consolation is that he doesn’t think he actually died this time. But it's a cold comfort when he really takes in his surroundings.

He’s on his back, lying across a rusty washer and dryer set that is covered in dried blood.  He doesn’t think any of it is his own, but he can’t be too sure at this point.  His arms are held in place above his head, secured by handcuffs to a pipe protruding from the wall.  He gives them an experimental tug, hoping the pipe is as old and rusty as the rest of this room, but it holds fast.   _Fuckin’ figures._ He cranes his neck, trying to spot anything within his grasp that could be useful, but comes up empty.  The room is filled with various bits of debris, old rusted barrels and a few storage cabinets, also covered in blood.

He hears a sound from outside the room and is startled when a man enters through the open doorway, face covered with a gas mask.  The sight is completely unsettling, even though Hank can tell by his stature that it’s probably Carlos. He tugs at the handcuffs again and growls angrily.

“Hey, asshole!” he barks at his captor.  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

The man in the gasmask just stares at him for a moment, tilting his head in thought.  “Don’t be so rude, Hank,” he finally says, his voice sounding slightly distorted behind the gas mask, but still recognizable.  At least Hank got him talking, and can confirm that it is, in fact, Carlos that he’s dealing with. The man moves closer, resting a hand on the bloody dryer that Hank’s sprawled across.  

“Back the fuck up, buddy,” Hank tells him, aiming a kick at his captor.  Carlos dodges it and tuts.

“You should really be a little nicer to me, Hank,” he tells him, threateningly.  “You wouldn’t want me to have to go back to your place, visit your… _lover_ , would you?”

“You son of a bitch, don’t you even _think_ about-” Hank’s rant is cut off when another man sticks his head around the corner, looking scared.  Hank notices he has a large gash across his face.

“Mr. Ortiz,” the man starts timidly, “what’s going on?”

Ortiz growls at the interruption.  “Damn it, H.K. Hank here is just going to join us for _dinner_ ,” and Hank doesn’t like the sound of that one bit.  The other man, _H.K.?_ Hank thinks, makes eye contact with Hank for a split second, before darting back out of the room.  “Impossible to get good help these days, eh?” he asks Hank jovially. Hank doesn’t bother giving him an answer, just yanks at his restraints again, his only thought getting back home to Connor.

Ortiz sighs as if he can read his thoughts.  “I can see I’m not getting through to you, Hank,” he tells the other man sadly.  “All you can focus on is getting back to your prettyboy, isn’t it? Well, I can understand why…” Ortiz stalks closer, looking at him critically.  “Can’t really understand what he’d want with you, though.”

_Yeah, join the fuckin’ club_ , Hank thinks, half hysterical.  Ortiz cups his face, a mockery of gentleness, and Hank tries to recoil.  He only succeeds in smashing his head against the wall.

“You really ought to be more careful,” Ortiz scolds him.  Hank spits in his face. Angrily, the other man reels back and punches him.  Hank’s dazed for a moment, and Ortiz stomps across the room, looking for something.  He returns to Hank’s side, a plastic container in his hand.

“It’s really a shame, you know?” Ortiz laments.  “Your eyes… they are pretty nice. And after this, you won’t be fit for dinner.”  He shakes the bottle at Hank, and Hank hears liquid sloshing around inside. “It’s incredibly strong, the strongest you can get, actually,” he continues, and Hank gets a glimpse of the label and has to do his best not to panic.   _Bleach._  

“You’re fuckin’ with the wrong guy, buddy,” Hank growls at him.  Ortiz just laughs and takes the lid off of the bottle.

“I’m sure your _boyfriend_ won’t want you anymore after _this_ ,” he tells Hank, tauntingly.  Hank tries to brace himself for what he knows is coming next, but it’s still a shock, still some of the worst pain he’s ever dealt with.  Ortiz empties the bottle directly onto his face, and no matter how hard Hank squeezes his eyes shut, how hard he tries not to breathe, the bleach is everywhere, burning away at his skin, going up his nose and into his mouth.  Down his throat. He chokes and coughs, trying to clear his airway, but with no success. It feels like it goes on forever.

When Ortiz finally stops, Hank can no longer see.  He can’t open his eyes, he’s not even sure if he _has_ eyes anymore.  Ortiz huffs out a fake sympathetic sigh.  “Wow, you really look like shit,” he tells him.  Hank desperately wants to fire back some kind of insult but finds he can no longer talk either.  Everything hurts. “Listen, Hank,” the other man starts again. “I don’t want you to think I’m _cruel_ or anything.  So, I’ve brought you something.  Something that will… help ease your suffering.”  

Ortiz pauses, then laughs at himself.  “Oh, of course, you can’t see what I’ve got!  Silly me! That bleach probably turned your eyes to jelly.”  Still laughing at his own joke, he rests a hand on Hank’s ankle.  “Brought you my gun, you see. Thought you might want to… make use of it.  It’s only got one bullet, but that’s all you need to take care of your problem, I reckon.”  Hank hears him place the gun down on the washer beside him. “Just think about it,” he taunts, and Hank struggles, unable to even reach it with his cuffed hands.  Ortiz laughs one more time. “It might be difficult for you to reach, but I’m sure you’ll manage.” And with that, Hank hears him leave the room, his footsteps receding down the hall.

_Son of a fuckin’ BITCH,_ Hank thinks, trying to contort himself in a way so that he can reach the gun.  All his nights playing Russian Roulette flash through his mind, uncertain about what he actually wanted the outcome to be, and he would laugh at the irony of it if he could.  Now he’s desperate to end it, so he can begin again. He makes a wrong move and hears the gun clatter to the floor. _Fuck!_  He hears footsteps in the hall again, and for a moment he thinks Ortiz might be coming back to finish him off himself.  But the steps are much softer, much more cautious.

He hears a gasp and the sound of someone hurrying over to him.  “What did he do to you…?” the man he heard Ortiz refer to as ‘H.K.’ whispers in horror.  Hank tugs weakly at the handcuffs, and he hears H.K. open a cabinet to his left. H.K. seems to be rifling through the cabinet, looking for something.  He makes a quiet, triumphant noise, and then Hank feels trembling hands struggling to unlock his handcuffs.

_Thank fuck,_ he thinks.  H.K. finally gets them unlocked, and helps Hank sit up.  The man lets out a pained sigh, and Hank knows that he must look like a fucking mess.

“Gun,” he manages to rasp, his throat feeling like it’s on fire.  He coughs wetly and is actually glad he can’t see because he doesn’t even want to know what he’s hacked up.

“No, no…” the other man says.  “Don’t leave me here… we’ll find a way out...”  

Hank wishes he could explain, but he knows he can’t manage to speak again.  He holds out his hand insistently. After a moment, the other man places the gun in his hand, and Hank feels relief so strong it almost makes him pass out.  He weakly points the man in the general direction of the door, not wanting to traumatize him even more. He doesn’t know what H.K.’s story is, but he knows he has to help him.  And he can’t help him in this state.

He hears H.K. reluctantly make his way out of the room and waits another moment before pointing the gun to his head.  All his drunken nights, sitting alone in his kitchen with his gun come rushing back to him, but he’s stone cold sober right now, and he doesn’t even hesitate before pulling the trigger.

 

* * *

 

Hank comes back to life with a gasp almost instantly.   _Huh,_ he thinks, surprised that he didn’t end up back in Amanda’s realm this time.   _Maybe this isn’t a special enough occasion,_ he thinks, laughing darkly.  He’s pleased to note that he _can_ laugh again, along with see.  He gingerly reaches up and touches his face, confirming that it is no longer damaged.  He feels fine and hauls himself to his feet without a problem.

_Connor_ , he reminds himself.  He needs to get home. Connor is probably worried sick.  And although he’s pretty certain that Ortiz’s threats against Connor were just to get him riled up, he’s not willing to risk it.  He grabs the gun Ortiz left him, and double checks the chamber, but sure enough Ortiz only left him a single bullet. Which he had already discharged into his own skull.  With an annoyed grunt, he drops the gun to the floor unceremoniously and makes his way out of the laundry room.

Directly outside the laundry room is a room that just seems to be… full of cages.  They’re covered in layers of dried blood, and Hank doesn’t look too closely to see their contents.  He can’t be sure if the remains are animal or human, and he doesn’t stick around to find out. The stairs are right in front of him, beckoning him out of the basement.

Hank creeps quietly up the stairs, doing his best to avoid the particularly squeaky looking boards.  He emerges from the basement into a surprisingly spacious home, that looks like it was once rather grand but has since fallen into disrepair.  Another flight of stairs is directly in front of him, but he bypasses them and heads straight for the front door.

Outside, the fog is still incredibly thick.  It almost feels as though it’s physically weighing down on Hank.  He can barely see what’s around him. But from what he can tell, the large, rundown house is in the middle of nowhere.  It’s extremely quiet, no sound of other cars or neighbors to be heard.   _Figures_ , he thinks, _can’t get away with what he’s doin’ in the middle of the city._ He starts walking to his left and passes nothing but trees for a full minute before somehow ending up back at the front of the house.  Either he got turned around in the fog, or some other sinister shit is going on. Hank’s not sure which he thinks is more likely anymore.

To his right, he sees Ortiz’s van.  Hoping the keys will be inside, he peers through the window.  He doesn’t see any keys, but a cellphone does catch his eye. Excited, he tries the handle, only to find it locked.   _Sure, of course._  Looking around, it's not difficult for him to find a loose brick from the front walk, which he pries out with his fingernails.  Not giving a single fuck, he smashes the brick into the window and quickly pulls out the cellphone. He knows he should definitely call the police first, but he can’t resist calling his own cell instead, knowing Connor will probably pick up like he did earlier, when Jeffery called.

He kneels down beside the animal control van, out of sight, and holds the phone to his ear, listening to it ring.   _Come on, Con, pick up…_ he urges.  Finally, he hears someone pick up on the other end, and Connor’s uncertain voice seems like the most wonderful thing he’s ever heard.

“Hello?  Lieutenant Anderson’s phone…?”

“Oh, Connor, thank fuck you’re okay-” Hank starts before Connor immediately cuts him off.

“Hank!” the younger man exclaims.  “Where are you, what happened to you, Sumo came home and you were not with him, are you okay-” he’s asking questions at high speed and as much as Hank wants to soothe him and reassure him everything is fine, he doesn’t have that luxury right now.

“Listen, babe,” Hank interrupts him.  “Somethin’ crazy went down and I’m in kinda a bind right now.  This is gonna sound fuckin’ stupid, but I think I’ve been… kidnapped by a cannibal hitman?  Because I pissed off our neighbor?”

Connor makes a choked noise over the phone.  “ _What_?!” he exclaims, sounding shocked and angry.  “Which neighbor, Hank?” he demands, a dangerous undercurrent in his tone.

As much as Connor’s protectiveness over him warms his heart, he has to talk him down.  “No, Con, listen, sweetheart. This guy who grabbed me. Ortiz. He said he was gonna come back for you.  That he…” Hank stops, not wanting to remember the nauseating feeling he got when Ortiz talked suggestively about Connor.  The other man seems to take the hint.

“If he shows up here it won’t end well for him,” Connor tells him, and Hank believes it.  He’d only really gotten to see the more vulnerable side of Connor since the start of their courtship, but he suspected the ruthless Connor was in there, had seen him peeking out when he talked about his plans for Elijah.  No matter how much Connor had insisted he ‘just wanted to talk’, Hank could tell he had some other ideas in mind, too.

“I just need you to keep yourself safe,” Hank tells him, pleading.  “My gun is in the drawer by my bed. Just, please, keep it within reach until I get home, okay?  Do you know how to use one?”

“Yes,” Connor answers immediately, confidently.  Hmm. That’s something Hank would like to know more about.

“Okay, good.  We’ll worry about the rest later.  This guy’s got another victim here, I gotta see if I can help him.”

“Hank, please, be careful, I can’t lose you…”

If Connor only knew what Hank was capable of living through, perhaps he wouldn’t worry.  Hank needs to think of a way to explain that to him when they’re reunited, too. Instead, he just says, “Don’t worry, Con.  I’ll always come back for you,” in a quiet, intimate voice that makes Connor sigh softly on the other line.

“I called your precinct earlier, when you didn’t come home,” Connor tells him.  “They didn’t seem too concerned, said you probably just wandered off drunk. They wouldn’t listen when I told them it wasn’t like that… I didn’t know what else to do…”

Hank tuts.  “Eh, that’s my own fault.  I don’t have the best reputation around there.”

“Well, should I call them now, again?  Let them know that it actually is quite serious?”

Hank ponders this.  It would probably be a good idea to get the police involved, undoubtedly to at least give closure to families of Ortiz’s previous victims, but he definitely thinks he wants to anonymously inform them once he himself is long gone from the scene.  “No, let me take care of that, baby,” he tells Connor. He just can’t seem to stop with the terms of endearment, even in such a dire situation. “I do need you to do something for me, though. And I’m sorry in advance if it’s painful.” Connor is quiet on the other end of the phone.  “That… gas that Elijah told Niles about. What are the two ingredients?”

Connor’s quiet for good 20 seconds before he finally speaks.  “You’re not… not going to use it on yourself, are you?”

Hank sputters.  “God, Con, no, of course not!”

Connor sounds pouty.  “Well, you can’t blame me for wanting to be sure…”

Hank sighs.  “No, you’re right, of course you’re right.  But I got somethin’ to come home for now. Can’t just give up.”

He can hear a faint smile in Connor’s voice.  “Well, I’m glad to hear that, but that is also something we’ll have to work on at some point, I can’t have you wanting to heal just because of me-”

“Connor, you’re absolutely right,” Hank cuts him off, “but can we please discuss this once I’m home?  I’m kinda in the shit right now.”

Connor seems to remember their actual situation and makes an embarrassed noise.  “Oh my, yes, of course, Hank!” He quickly rattles off the two ingredients Hank will need to make the gas, and Hank is surprised to find out just how easy it really is to concoct something that will kill a person in minutes.  “And Hank, please, protect yourself, wear a gas mask if you can find one.” Hank thinks it might be a lucky coincidence that Ortiz was wearing one earlier.

“Thanks, babe,” Hank says.  He’s got a plan. “I’ll be home as soon as I can.  And then I’ll tell you whatever you want to know, okay?”

“Okay, Hank,” Connor agrees.  “Just, please. This might sound selfish but… don’t risk yourself for that other person.  If it gets too bad… please just get out of there. Come home to me.”

The emotion of it makes Hank’s throat tighten.  “Yeah, okay,” he promises Connor. “I’m coming home to you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had to make some changes again, i just couldnt have ortiz's android be a bad boy. this was originally a husband/wife parasite couple, but that was not gonna happen here. also someone had to unlock the handcuffs, teacup brought the key to susan in tcl and i dont rly see sumo sneakin thru the vents and getting it to hank, sorry lmfao


	23. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> previously: _“Okay, Hank,” Connor agrees. “Just, please. This might sound selfish but… don’t risk yourself for that other person. If it gets too bad… please just get out of there. Come home to me.”_
> 
> _The emotion of it makes Hank’s throat tighten. “Yeah, okay,” he promises Connor. “I’m coming home to you.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its still pretty fuckin ridiculous. and we got some murder in this one!!!

After he finishes his conversation with Connor, he takes one more look through Ortiz’s van, looking for anything else that might be of use.  As his luck would have it, Ortiz does in fact keep several gas masks in the back. Probably for when he does pest control jobs. He grabs one and makes his way carefully back into the house.  He already knows where he can locate one of the chemicals Connor mentioned, now he just has to find the other.

The door to his left inside the entryway is ajar, and when he peeks in, he sees it leads to a filthy kitchen.  Empty bottles of wine lay scattered across the countertops, and that gives Hank pause for a second.  It’s been a while since he had anything to drink, and he knows he should really be feeling like shit right about now.  He feels surprisingly okay though. _Maybe all this dying has something to do with it_ he jokes to himself, but then frowns, thinking that actually might make some sort of twisted sense.  After all, it resets his injuries, maybe it resets his body’s craving for alcohol too. He knows it’ll probably catch up with him eventually, though, once he stops dying so often.  The thought almost makes him burst into half-hysterical laughter. This is too much, he needs to get out of here.

He doesn’t stop to examine the contents of the pots on the stove, or the rusty looking refrigerator, having a pretty good guess to what he’ll find.  Through the kitchen and into a grand looking dining room, which would be much more impressive if it also wasn’t in a bad state of disrepair.  More empty bottles litter the table, the tablecloth is torn and stained.  The candles in the fancy brass candle holders have dripped wax all over the tablecloth.  Hank doesn’t take much more time to examine the room and continues forward.

Next, he enters a smaller, dingier room, that seems to be a sort of catchall storage area.  Hank browses the room’s contents but doesn’t see what he’s looking for. Frustrated, he pulls open the other door in the room, which leads him into a backyard that is every bit as _lovely_ as the rest of the house.  The majority of the space is taken up by several bathtubs, for some reason.  The tubs are nearly overflowing with greenish water. Hank doesn’t really want to know what they contain.  But, his curiosity gets the best of him, and he can’t help but peer into the one on his left. A severed head stares back at him, lifeless eyes wide open.

Hank immediately leaps back, not really knowing what else he would have been expecting.  That seems about on par for the kind of creepy shit he’s had to deal with lately. At the end of the yard sits a rusty, half collapsed shed.  Hank sneaks up to the door and peers around, relieved when he sees that it’s occupied by H.K. Hank whispers to get his attention.

The other man turns around in fright and looks absolutely shocked to see Hank standing there, alive and well.  “H-how…?” he starts to ask, but Hank cuts him off.

“It’s a long story.  Trust me, I’d explain if I could.  But we gotta get out of here.”

H.K. nods but looks conflicted.  Hank feels sympathy rising in his chest.

“Hey,” he starts, gently resting a hand on the younger man’s shoulder.  “What’s your name?”

The other man looks down.  “Mr. Ortiz calls me H.K.,” he tells Hank.  Hank’s seen shit like this before in his line of work, he wonders how long H.K. has been under Ortiz’s spell, under his control.  The younger man is terrified to go against Ortiz’s orders, even though he desperately doesn’t want to be here. Hank decides not to push it right now.

“Okay, listen, H.K.  Me and you are gettin’ out of here.  Where does Ortiz keep the keys to the van?”

H.K. looks panicked.  “We… we can’t leave… he’ll be mad…”

“I’m going to take care of that, trust me,” Hank tells him.  “He’s never going to get mad at you or anyone else ever again.”  H.K. seems to understand what he means.

“Oh…” says the younger man quietly.  He looks torn, but in the end, he gives Hank the answer he needs.  “He almost always has them in his pocket. He’s probably napping down in the gun room right now, in the basement.”

Hank frowns.  “I didn’t see any gun room when I was down there.”

“It’s a small door, difficult to notice if you’re not looking for it.  He’s… obsessed with it, obsessed with his guns. I don’t… I don’t want him to hurt me.”

“I’m not going to let that happen,” Hank promises.  “Now, you wouldn’t happen to have…” Hank trails off as his eyes dart around the little shed and he lets out a noise of triumph when he spots the second item on Connor’s list.  “Perfect.”

“What are you going to do with that?” H.K. asks.  

“Don’t worry,” Hank tells him.  “Just get out to the van and wait for me there.  I won’t be long.”

H.K. looks uncertain, and Hank does his best to give him a reassuring smile.  “We’re gonna be okay, we’re gettin’ out of here.” The other man nods slowly and follows Hank back through the house.  Hank pauses at the top of the basement stairs and watches until H.K. carefully makes his way out the front door to the van.  Once the other man is outside, Hank braces himself and gets to work.

The stairs down to the basement creak menacingly, but Hank can’t even find it in himself to be bothered.   _This is it_ , he thinks, _I’m about to take care of another parasite…_ He finds himself feeling a little more conflicted than before when he was rescuing someone from immediate physical harm.  It feels wrong to take out the man while he’s sleeping. _But_ , he reasons with himself, _as soon as this jackass wakes up, we’re in danger again.  Better to do it now, it’s not like he deserves a fair chance anyway._

He makes a pitstop in the laundry room to grab the other chemical he needs, along with a rusty metal bucket to pour the ingredients into and then takes his supplies back into the cage filled room.  He pauses and looks around, finally noticing an old door that wasn’t immediately obvious to the casual observer. Carefully, he dons his gasmask and makes his way over to the door. He’s surprised that it opens easily, without so much as a sound.  

Poking his head cautiously into the tiny room, he sees that H.K. was right.  Ortiz sits in a chair, head lolling on his chest and fast asleep. On the wall are a bunch of guns, mounted so that the man can admire them at his leisure.  Hank’s disgusted. If he wasn’t a cop he doesn’t think he would have ever owned a single gun, let alone over a dozen. The room has no windows or any kind of ventilation.   _Perfect,_ Hank thinks.  Part of him feels like he should wake Ortiz up, make it a fair fight, but he shoves that away.  The most important thing is that he gets home to Connor, and gets H.K. out of this situation.

Ortiz stirs slightly, and Hank freezes, relieved when the man just shifts and continues snoring.  Quietly, he sets down the bucket and pours the chemicals in. Wasting no time, he quickly retreats out of the room, waiting for the mixture to do its job.  He tries not to think of how morbid this is, standing outside the door until the other man dies.

Eventually, he hears a dull thud from inside the room, and carefully peeks back inside.  Ortiz has fallen out of his chair and is sprawled out on the ground, unmoving. Hank approaches him with caution and nudges him with his boot.  Ortiz doesn’t respond, and Hank concludes that he has, in fact, killed the man. A quick check of his pulse confirms it. It’s almost anticlimactic, compared to the time at the hospital.   _You can get all critical about shit after you get out of here,_ Hank tells himself as he kneels down and rummages through Ortiz’s pockets.

H.K. was once again right, and he grins triumphantly when he retrieves the keys.  One last look at Ortiz’s lifeless body and then he’s out the door, hurrying up the stairs and out into the foggy evening.

He finds H.K. leaning against the van, arms wrapped around himself.  The other man appears to be trembling, and he looks incredibly conflicted.  Upon Hank’s approach, he glances up, a question on his lips.

“It’s taken care of,” Hank tells him, sparing him from having to ask.  The other man nods, looking relieved but also a little sad. “Let’s get out of here,” Hank says, unlocking the van.  Both of the men climb inside and drive away without looking back.

Hank really has no idea where they are, so he just drives, following the only road away from the house.  He glances at H. K. from time to time, but the other man is staring out the window, looking despondent. Eventually, Hank clears his throat, and H.K. reluctantly turns his gaze to him.

“So, uhh,” Hank flounders, wondering what he should even say to the other man.

H.K. interrupts him.  “There’s a town about 5 miles in that direction,” he points.  Hank nods and continues in the direction H.K. indicated.

“What… what do you want to do?  Where do you want me to take you?” Hank asks.  The other man is quiet for a while, and Hank doesn’t push.

“You died,” H.K. says, a statement not a question.  Cautiously, Hank nods. H.K. nods back, seeming to accept that.  “The police shouldn’t know you were there, then. That would be hard to explain.”  Hank figures the other man is in shock, or trying to distract himself with problems he can actually solve.

“That would… probably be for the best,” Hank tells him.  “I’ll call in an anonymous tip to the police, who knows how many missing persons cases could be solved by an investigation into that creep’s house.”

They’ve reached the town by this point, and Hank pulls the van into a mostly empty parking lot. He’s pleased that he recognizes the town and that it’s only a few miles from his apartment. He’s surprised when he sees a phone booth, thinking the only place those existed anymore were in museums.  “I’ll be right back,” Hank tells him, and gets out of the van, intent on making his call to the cops as anonymous as he can. The call is brief, but he’s confident that he got his point across, and that the police will look into it. When he gets back to the van, H.K. is nowhere in sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im sorry i didnt know what to do w HK after they got out of there so i made him run away. cheap :/  
> i have plans to do SOMETHING w him in future works but idk what yet.  
> and now that this section is out of the way, next time u will get............. some nsfw shenanigans >:)


	24. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> previously: _They’ve reached the town by this point, and Hank pulls the van into a mostly empty parking lot. He’s pleased that he recognizes the town, and that it’s only a few miles from his apartment. He’s surprised when he sees a phonebooth, thinking the only place those existed anymore were in museums. “I’ll be right back,” Hank tells him, and gets out of the van, intent on making his call to the cops as anonymous as he can. The call is brief, but he’s confident that he got his point across, and that the police will look into it. When he gets back to the van, H.K. is nowhere in sight._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY im sorry it took a little longer than anticipated to get this published. ive had car troubles and work troubles but everything is sorted now and. im feelin a lot better. but also i was anxious abt this one because it is the first NSFW chapter!!! aka the first NSFW i ever wrote. and rewrote abt a million times. foof. anyway. 4 chapters for u now as an apology for takin so long.

Hank looks for H.K. for a few moments, but it’s soon clear to him that the other man doesn’t want to be found.  He sighs, not feeling great about just leaving him, but there’s not much more he can do at this point. Connor is waiting for him, and that takes priority over everything else.  He gets back into the van and makes his way home.

He dumps Ortiz’s vehicle about a mile from his apartment, wiping it down to erase his fingerprints, figuring it’s the best he can do.  

Once again Hank finds himself skulking around the back alleys, trying to avoid being seen by other people.  He’s got blood matted in his hair from a bullet to the head, and it stains his shirt too. He makes his way home in a daze, and before he knows it he’s back at his apartment.  Knocking on the door, he calls out Connor’s name, letting him know he’s home.

The door flies open almost instantly, and Connor flings himself at him, pulling him into a tight embrace, burying his face in his chest.  Hank wraps his arms around him just as tightly, finally able to relax.

“I was worried sick about you!” Connor says, sounding borderline angry, voice muffled against Hank’s shirt.  Hank knows it’s not directed at him, though, and presses his lips to the top of Connor’s head.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he murmurs, and Connor pulls back, smacking halfheartedly at his chest.

“Don’t apologize, it’s not-” Connor abruptly cuts off, noticing the blood in Hank’s hair and on his clothes.  “Hank, what happened?” he nearly shouts, and Hank shushes him, herding him back into the apartment quickly. Sumo is thrilled to see him home, bounding over while barking happily and vying for his attention.  Hank chuckles and scratches behind his ears gently. Connor will not be deterred, though, and tugs on Hank’s arm impatiently. “Hank-” he starts again, and Hank looks at him.

Hank knows Connor is worried and tries to be serious but as soon as his eyes settle on his partner, all he can do is think _God, he’s beautiful_.  Connor’s wearing another pair of black leggings, but these look like they have seen better days.  They are ripped in several places, one rather high up on his leg. Hank likes that. He’s got one of Hank’s old band shirts on, much too large, and Hank likes that a _lot_.  Something warm and possessive blooms in his chest.

“Did you raid my closet?” he asks, and Connor blushes sweetly.

“That’s not at all important right now, Hank!” Connor says incredulously.  “You… what happened to you? You’ve been gone for almost a day!”

Hank’s surprised it’s been that long and feels bad for teasing Connor.  He presses a firm kiss to Connor’s forehead in apology. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he says seriously.  Connor deflates slightly. “I wanna get cleaned up a little, and then I’ll tell you all about it, okay?”  

Hank’s nervous, knowing that being honest with Connor about what he’s been doing and what’s happened since he tried to kill himself will change things, and Connor might not want to stay.  Not to mention Connor will probably think he’s crazy once he brings up Amanda. But he doesn’t really know how else to explain, leaving her out leaves too many holes in his story.

Connor seems to sense that this will be something momentous, and nods.  “Okay, Hank. Go get cleaned up. I want to kiss you properly,” Connor tells him in a serious voice, and Hank cracks a smile.   _Adorable,_ he thinks.

“You got it,” he replies, giving him a mock salute as he makes his way into the bathroom.  He closes the door and sheds his ruined clothes. Between all these violent deaths and Connor stealing his clothes, he predicts a significant decrease in his wardrobe selection in his future.  He hastily brushes his teeth and then hops into the shower, scrubbing blood from his hair yet again. This is getting old pretty fast. He watches the pale pink water swirl slowly down the drain, thinking about what he’s going to say to Connor.  Nothing he can come up with is really adequate.

After he’s clean, he switches the shower off, but not the water, and lets the tub fill, wanting to relax some more.  He needs to get in the right frame of mind before telling Connor everything. And if he pours some lavender bubble bath into the running water, no one has to know.

Hank sinks down into the warm water with a heavy sigh, feeling the tension of the past day bleed away.  Eyes sliding closed, he reclines and rests his head against the back edge of the tub. The warm water is incredibly comforting, and he thinks he must have drifted off to sleep because the next thing he knows there’s a loud knock on the bathroom door.  With a start, his eyes shoot open and he sinks halfway underwater, sputtering when he reemerges with bubbles covering his face.

“Hank!” Connor’s voice comes from the other side of the door.  

“Shit, Con, everything alright?” Hank calls back, splashing water on his face, rinsing the bubbles away.

“I need to ask you something important.  Can I come in?”

Hank laughs incredulously.  “I can hear you just fine, can’t you just ask me now?”

Connor’s quiet for a moment.  “No,” he finally answers. “It’s _important_.”

Hank snorts.  “I’m naked in here, Con, you know?”

Connor answers immediately.  “It just became very important!”

Hank shakes his head and thinks it over.  Connor’s already seen him in nothing but a towel and that seemed to work out in his favor, and he’s completely covered with a thick blanket of bubbles.  With a shrug, he answers. “Yeah, okay,” he calls out to Connor. “If it’s _that_ important and all.  Just promise this isn't actually a clever plan to see my dick.”

“I would never,” Connor says, sarcastically sincere.  Hank laughs out loud, and pushes himself up out of his reclining position, waiting for Connor to open the door.

Connor enters without delay, looking like he actually _does_ want to ask a question, but his brain seems to short circuit when he lays eyes on Hank.  Hank raises an eyebrow in question, a slight smirk on his face.

“Umm…” Connor starts, closing the distance between them quickly.  He sinks to his knees beside the tub and trails off into silence. Hank shifts to face him better, the water sloshing quietly.  Connor can’t seem to stop staring at him, and Hank smiles softly.

“You okay, babe?” he asks, just barely teasing.  Connor shakes his head, not in disagreement, but as if he needs to refocus.

“I apologize,” he says, sounding slightly embarrassed.  Almost breathless. His eyes trail hungrily over Hank, staring at the bubbles as if he could will them away before running up his chest and coming to rest on his face.  “I have a confession. My question wasn’t actually very important at all.”

Hank snorts.  “No shit?” he asks, and Connor smiles guiltily.  Idly, the smaller man dips his fingers into the water, running them through the thick bubbles.  Hank watches for a moment, hypnotized, before catching Connor’s hand with his own.

Connor holds his gaze, tilting his head slightly and leaning closer, stopping just before their lips meet.  He waits a beat, as if asking permission, and Hank doesn’t hesitate to close the remaining distance between them.  Kissing Connor is quickly becoming one of his favorite pastimes, he thinks, as Connor’s hand releases his and comes up to gently cup his face instead, tongue slipping past Hank’s lips.  He growls low in his throat when Connor deepens their kiss further, and he yields to the younger man. Tongues slide messily against each other for a while as Hank lets Connor explore his mouth, and when Connor starts to pull back, Hank catches his bottom lip between his teeth, tugging gently.  Connor _moans_ , and that sound goes straight to Hank’s dick.

“Fuck,” Hank breathes, trying to calm down.  He leans away, but Connor doesn’t seem to like that idea, drawn to him like a magnet.  He chases Hank’s lips with single-minded determination, rising onto his feet slightly, and Hank just has enough time to pull his legs back and say, “Shit, Connor-” before the younger man overbalances and falls into the tub with a splash.  Water spills out over the sides and onto the floor, and Connor is completely submerged for a moment before shooting back up out of the water gracelessly, sputtering. It’s a miracle he didn’t land on anything... vital. He stares at Hank incredulously, as if he can’t actually believe what just happened, and then, both of them burst into uncontrollable laughter at the exact same moment.

Hank can’t remember the last time he laughed, _really_ laughed like this.  And here he is, laughing so hard his stomach hurts, completely naked, while Connor hides his face in his hands, trying but failing to contain his own laughter.  “Oh my god…” Connor chokes out. Hank notices the younger man covertly reach up, making sure his hair is still positioned correctly, but still laughing the entire time.  He looks ridiculous, soaked clothes clinging to his frame, face flushed from laughter. Hank thinks it might be the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“That was so fucking smooth, babe,” he tells Connor with a grin, hauling him forward into another kiss.  Connor makes a noise of surprise but goes eagerly. After a moment of awkward shuffling, Hank manages to make room for Connor to sink sideways into the empty space beside him, curling his body halfway over Hank’s.  Hank wraps an arm around him, holding him in place, a large hand resting on his hip. Connor’s knee comes to rest dangerously close to Hank’s now very interested dick, and he groans against Connor’s mouth. _Slow down_ , part of him says. The part of him that's been interested since the moment he met Connor fires back, _fuck off, it's been three days._

Connor rests a hand over Hank’s heart, which feels like it's about to beat out of his chest.  Hank licks into his mouth, and Connor eagerly submits to his exploration.

Connor shifts against him slightly, and Hank is suddenly very aware of just  _how much_ Connor is enjoying this when he presses into Hank's side, hard against his hip. Hank breaks their kiss momentarily to breathe a quiet, “Fuck, Connor…” against his lips, just as the hand on his chest slides from its resting place over his heart, tracing over his chest tattoo before rubbing teasingly over one of his nipples.  Hank’s eyes slip closed and he lets out a low moan, which prompts a pleased noise from Connor.

“Do you like that, Hank?” he asks, pinching lightly, rolling it between his fingers before switching to the other one.  Hank’s always been sensitive there…

“Yeah, fuck, keep doin’ that,” Hank groans, the embarrassment that he usually feels from such an admission totally absent.  Connor complies, pressing closer to Hank and glancing up at him through his long lashes before opening his mouth and running his tongue over one of the raised buds, his thumb rubbing in a slow, circular motion over the other.  Hank chokes on a groan when Connor sucks his nipple into his mouth with a satisfied hum.

He huffs, not about to let Connor have all the fun, the hand he has resting on Connor’s hip slipping lower to grab his ass.  It’s Connor’s turn to moan now, and he presses his face into Hank’s neck, rolling his hips against Hank’s side. He seems incapable of multitasking, hand sliding away from playing with Hank’s nipples and resting on his stomach instead.  “Fuck, baby, that’s it,” Hank says lowly, as Connor breathes shallowly against his neck. “‘S’that good for you?” Connor nods feverishly in response and Hank groans. Watching the smaller man writhe against him is driving him wild.

Connor whines and Hank gives his ass a gentle squeeze.  Connor’s leggings are soaked, clinging to his skin and not leaving much to the imagination.  Hank’s just contemplating how difficult it would be to get them off of him, teasingly tracing the seam on his ass, when Connor whimpers and his hips still against him.

Hank pauses.  “Did you…?”

Connor looks up at him and shakes his head quickly.  “No, not yet, I…” the hand resting on Hank’s stomach slides lower, uncertain.  “Hank, I want… to get you off first, I want to watch you...”

Hank takes a deep breath.  “Are you sure? You don’t have to…” he tells him, kneading his ass gently.

Connor groans.  “I’m very much aware that I don’t _have_ to, I _want_ to, Hank, please…”

Hank can’t believe he’s lying here in his bathtub right now, holding an incredibly attractive man who is practically begging to jerk him off, and he’s still second guessing things.  He lets out his breath slowly. “Yeah, okay Con,” he agrees. “It’s been… awhile, though. I’m not gonna last long…” he admits reluctantly.

Connor just grins and kisses him while his hand slides further down Hank's stomach, playing with the coarse, gray trail of hair leading towards his cock.  Hank tenses, self-conscious about his sizeable gut, which makes Connor pause. He pulls back from the kiss to make sure everything is still okay. Their eyes meet and Hank nods, giving him the go ahead.  Connor waits another moment and just when Hank’s anticipation is starting to reach uncomfortable levels, Connor takes him in his hand.

Hank moans and his head falls back, resting against the side of the tub.  Connor hasn’t even _done_ anything yet and he already feels close.  Connor swipes his thumb over the head teasingly and starts rolling his hips against Hank again.  “Fuck, Hank,” the younger man murmurs in his ear. “You feel so big… I wish I could see…” he laments, glaring at the thick sheet of bubbles obstructing his view.  Hank knows he's not imagining the excited tremor in Connor's voice, and he'd smirk if Connor didn't have him completely at his mercy.

Just listening to Connor talk is getting him worked up, and when Connor starts to stroke him in earnest his hips jerk on the own accord, another moan escaping him.  Connor’s grinding against him and making pleasured sounds of his own, and fuck if that isn’t the sexiest thing Hank’s witnessed in a long time. Possibly ever.

Water splashes out of the tub as their movements become more frantic, and Connor whimpers, nipping playfully at Hank’s earlobe and saying in a quietly desperate voice, “please, Hank, I’m so close…” and that’s all it takes to push Hank over the edge, eyes snapping shut as he comes with a low moan.  

He can feel Connor’s eyes on him while he strokes him through his orgasm, taking in the view, and fuck, Hank really likes that.  He breathes heavily, arm coming up to drape over his face. It’s almost overwhelming. He feels close to tears, but not in a bad way.  Hank can’t remember the last time someone else made him come. Hell, he can’t even remember the last time he took care of himself, his libido definitely took a hit as his mental state worsened.  But this… this was good.

It takes him a moment to come back to himself, and he almost doesn’t get to witness Connor’s climax.  He’s vaguely aware of the other man still rocking his hips frantically against his side, and then abruptly realizes what he almost missed.  Quickly, he uncovers his face and grabs ahold of Connor’s ass again, murmuring, “What can I do for you?” His voice is hoarse as he tries to keep his emotions in check, and he hopes it's not obvious to Connor in his highly aroused state.

Connor shakes his head and continues grinding against Hank’s side, and Hank takes that as his hint to just lay back and enjoy the show.  And maybe encourage him a little.

“Fuck, Connor, that’s so hot,” he tells the other man quietly.  Connor moans loudly at that, clinging to him. Hank presses a kiss to his neck and then leans in to speak directly in his ear.  “That’s it. You're almost there. Come for me, sweetheart,” he growls lowly, making Connor swear as his hips still against him, following his command.  He whimpers, and Hank laces their fingers together, holding his hand while he finishes. Finally, Connor lets out a shuddering breath and drops his head wearily onto Hank’s chest, tired but definitely sated.

“Fuck,” Connor says quietly, after a moment.  Hank fully agrees with that sentiment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mitzi: can i come into the bathroom while ur takin a bath susan??  
> susan: no u lesbian
> 
> connor: hank can i come in  
> hank: fuck yeah im gay
> 
>  
> 
> so. no one look at me or speak to me ever again lmao i hope it was. passable smut. hehhhhhhhhhhhhhhghg


	25. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> previously (nsfw): _“Fuck, Connor, that’s so hot,” he tells the other man quietly. Connor moans loudly at that, clinging to him. Hank presses a kiss to his neck and then leans in to speak directly in his ear. “That’s it. You're almost there. Come for me, sweetheart,” he growls lowly, making Connor swear as his hips still against him, following his command. He whimpers, and Hank laces their fingers together, holding his hand while he finishes. Finally, Connor lets out a shuddering breath and drops his head wearily onto Hank’s chest, tired but definitely sated._
> 
> _“Fuck,” Connor says quietly, after a moment. Hank fully agrees with that sentiment._

The two of them lie there for awhile, coming back down and basking in the afterglow, but eventually Hank has to concede that the cooling water is not very comfortable anymore, and that Connor must want to get out of his ruined clothes.  “Come on,” he says, shifting Connor off of him. “Let's get out of here.” Connor makes a quiet noise of protest, not wanting to move, but changes his mind quickly as he watches Hank stand, eyes roaming appreciatively over his naked form.  The attention makes Hank feel self-conscious, but the obvious interest in Connor’s gaze makes it bearable.

He steps out of the tub and wraps a towel around himself, then offers a hand to Connor, which the other man accepts.  Hank helps him stand and make his way out of the water, a task made more difficult by his waterlogged clothes. Connor wrestles with his shirt, trying to pull it off with limited success, and Hank steps forward with a fond smile on his face.  “Need some help?” he teases, and Connor nods eagerly.

“Yes, please, Hank,” he says, and Hank removes his shirt with little difficulty, suddenly suspicious that Connor must be exaggerating his trouble with it to get Hank’s hands on him again.  The thought makes him smile more. His eyes roam over Connor’s chest, taking in the sight for the first time. _Fuck,_ is the only thing Hank’s brain supplies him with.  Connor’s lithe torso is perfect, which Hank had expected, but seeing it for himself is… a lot.  He runs a hand gently over Connor’s chest, tracing lines between the moles scattered randomly across his skin.  Connor shivers, and Hank realizes he’s still standing there in wet clothes, and halts his exploration for now. Connor pouts at him, and Hank laughs, shaking his head.

“You’re unbelievable,” he mutters, hands sliding down over Connor’s lightly muscled stomach and coming to a rest at the waistband of his leggings, thumbs slipping underneath just barely.  Connor’s breath hitches and Hank flicks his eyes to his face, waiting for permission, which he promptly receives with another enthusiastic nod.

“I think we’re doing things a little out of order,” he jokes as he slides the soaked fabric down Connor’s legs and helps him balance as the younger man steps out of them one leg at a time.  Hank groans when he sees Connor’s wearing lacy black boyshorts underneath. “Are you trying to kill me?” he asks, fingers running gently across the delicate fabric, tugging at the lacy waistband.

“You can’t expect me to wear regular underwear with leggings, Hank,” Connor replies, brows furrowed as if honestly offended.  “That would look ridiculous.”

“Well, we couldn’t have that,” Hank laughs, while Connor slips primly out of his underwear, trying hard to look dignified.  Hank does his best not to stare, wanting to really take his time and explore Connor in his entirety later. Still, what he does see he likes very much.  “Just promise you’ll wear those again for me someday,” he says lowly and Connor grins.

“I think that can be arranged,” he replies with a sultry grin.

Hank tries not to get too flustered as he throws Connor’s clothes into the pile with his own ruined ones, a stark reminder of the conversation that’s to come.  Putting that out of his mind for now, he grabs another towel, wrapping it around Connor’s shoulders and using it to pull him in close, kissing him softly. Connor exhales contently through his nose, palms resting against Hank’s chest and carding slowly through the silver hair.

Connor kisses him like he's something precious and fragile, like he's worth taking care of.  Another stab of almost painfully _good_ emotion runs through him.  It all feels so foreign to Hank, and when they part Connor's looking at him with concern.

“Are you okay, Hank?” he asks, reaching up and cradling his face gently.

Hank chuckles embarrassedly, looking away from Connor's inquisitive gaze.  “Yeah, uh, I'm good,” he assures Connor. “It's just… it's been a long time.”  Connor's face softens in understanding.

“Yeah, me too,” Connor admits, nuzzling his face into Hank's neck.  Hank decides not to elaborate on exactly _how long_ it's been, since he's pretty sure what constitutes as a long time for each of them varies greatly.  Connor's young and beautiful, Hank's sure he's had no shortage of eager partners.

_Don't assume that shit_ , he tells himself a second later, remembering that Connor's situation is definitely not… typical.  He knows he keeps projecting his own insecurities onto Connor, and that if he's not careful he could easily build him up into something he's not and that won't do either of them any favors.

“Where'd you go, Hank?” Connor's gentle voice interrupts the negative rabbit hole he's started down, and he shakes his head to scatter the thoughts away.

“Sorry, Con,” he murmurs, kissing his forehead.  “Just bein’ silly.” Connor looks like he wants to dig deeper into that, and Hank runs a hand over Connor’s jaw, tilting his head to look him in the eye.

“So,” he says, seriously, hoping to distract him, “did you actually have a question to ask me earlier, or was that just an excuse to get in here?”

Connor reluctantly drops the line of questioning for now and laughs, shooting him a playful grin.  “A little bit of both, actually,” he tells Hank. “Of course, I’ve been trying to see you naked since we first met,” he starts, and Hank nearly chokes, “but also, I was going to make pancakes and I wanted to know how many you wanted.”

Hank laughs loudly.  “That is a very flimsy excuse,” he replies, pressing a kiss to Connor’s temple.

Connor shrugs, unashamed.  “It worked, didn’t it?”

“Fair enough,” Hank concedes.  “Alright, let's get dressed, sounds like it’s breakfast time.”

 

* * *

 

Now Hank’s sitting at his small dining table, wearing nothing but sweatpants, Sumo sprawled on the floor at his feet.  He tried to put on a shirt, but Connor had insisted he didn’t, and he couldn’t bring himself to argue. He’s being treated to a very nice view himself, the younger man wearing another one of his old shirts and a pair of tight boxer briefs while he flits around the kitchen on bare feet, making them a meal.  Hank’s shirt is so long on him it looks like he isn’t wearing anything underneath it at all, the illusion only being shattered when Connor stretches up to reach something on a high shelf.

Hank really can’t believe how much his life changed in such a short time.  He knows things with Connor are probably moving too quickly, and out of order, but he also knows that they don’t have the luxury of time to do things ‘right’.  That thought makes him sad, but thankfully Connor doesn’t seem to notice, caught up in his cooking. He’s humming along quietly to a tune in his head, and the sight makes Hank smile affectionately, temporarily forgetting his more negative thoughts.  

Connor sets two plates stacked high with pancakes on the table, and Hank’s suddenly aware of just how hungry he is.  How long has it been since he ate something?  The two of them eat in silence, and Hank smiles when he feels Connor slide his feet forward, fitting them into the space between his own.  Connor shoots him a small smirk across the table, his one foot moving up his calf. Hank ignores him at first, stubbornly focusing on his food, but it gets more difficult when Connor’s foot passes his knee, teasing at his thigh.

“Jesus, you’re insatiable,” he says, trying to sound unaffected.  Connor laughs, and Hank reaches a hand under the table, wrapping his fingers firmly around Connor’s ankle and holding his foot stationary in his lap.  He’s going to have to finish his meal one-handed, but it’s a small price to pay to avoid choking in surprise if Connor decides he wants to give him some sort of footjob while they’re sitting at the table.

“You’re no fun,” Connor pouts, but Hank’s rubbing gentle circles with his thumb around Connor’s ankle bone, and that seems to satisfy him for now.  The rain has started up again, and the sound of it against the window punctuates the silence between their conversation while they finish their food.    

Hank collects their plates once they finish and dumps them in the sink, waving off Connor’s attempt to clean them himself.

“You made all the food, at least let me clean up,” he tells him.

“Fine,” Connor replies, “then let's leave them for later instead.”  Hank doesn’t argue as Connor grabs his arm and leads him out of the kitchen and down the hall.  They’re headed towards his bedroom. Hank stops moving when Connor’s destination becomes clear, and Connor turns to him, confused.

“Uhh, what did you have in mind?” Hank asks him, suddenly anxious.  He tells himself it’s silly, he’s already gotten off with Connor, seen him naked.  But taking him to bed seems like something else entirely.

Connor rolls his eyes.  “I’m not trying to have sex with you right now, Hank,” he tells him. “Although I wouldn’t be opposed to it. But we have things to discuss first.”  Hank flushes slightly, while Connor continues. “I merely thought it would be beneficial for you to be someplace comfortable and familiar for this.”  Hank feels foolish now but lets Connor continue leading him into his room. “Who knows what will happen after that, though…” Connor trails off suggestively, and Hank nearly trips over his own feet.

“Jesus, Connor,” Hank mutters as the two of them enter his room and crawl into his bed while Connor laughs. Hank lets Connor manhandle him onto his back and drape himself across his chest.  It’s been… a long time since Hank had anyone else in his bed, for any reason. The cocoon of blankets Connor has enclosed them in paired with the sound of the rain outside makes for an intimately cozy atmosphere, which has Hank suddenly feeling very emotional.  His hold on Connor tightens slightly, and he buries his face in the other man’s hair. Even though it’s artificial, Connor’s smell still overwhelms his senses when he inhales.

“Are you okay, Hank?” Connor asks, sounding worried.

Hank kisses the top of his head with a sigh.  “I… don’t know,” he answers honestly. “I know I gotta tell you about… everything that’s been going on.  But I’m scared of what you’ll think of me after you know. And I feel guilty for getting so involved with you before you really know the truth about… what kind of person I am.”

Connor shifts in his arms so he can face him, frowning.  “You killed the man who took you, didn’t you?” he asks, sounding like he already knows the answer.  Hank’s heart beats faster, but he doesn’t deny it, and Connor takes that as a confirmation. “Well, I had already assumed as much.  And it doesn’t change the way I feel about you,” he tells Hank firmly. “I already know what kind of person you are, Hank. You are kind, and brave, and good.  I know you wouldn’t do something you consider abhorrent unless it was the only option.”

Hank sputters.  “Connor, I killed him, and he was asleep.  He didn’t even have a chance to fight back-”

Connor cuts him off with a finger against his lips.  “He hurt you, Hank,” he says, and there’s that dangerous look in his eye again.  He’s glad he’s not the one it’s directed at. “He hurt you and who knows how many other people.  He was a… monster, and you got rid of him, and now he’ll never hurt anyone ever again. So go on, tell me everything.  I’m not going anywhere.”

Hank’s both surprised and not surprised by Connor’s speech.  The younger man had mostly displayed a quiet, gentle demeanor around him, but Hank had had his suspicions that Connor was much more complex than all of that.  Hearing about how hard Connor had worked to track down Elijah, hearing his utter contempt for the man had tipped him off to that. Connor was kind around Hank because he liked him.  Hank had never actually seen him around someone he didn’t like. The thought of how he would behave is a bit scary, and a bit exciting. But…

“It’s not just about… killing people, Con,” he says, nervously.  “There’s more. And I don’t know how to tell you about it without you thinking I’m nuts.”

Connor perks up.  “You killed more than one person?” he asks, sounding curious rather than scared, like Hank would have expected.

“Christ, Connor,” he says, feeling hysterical.  “Why aren’t you more bothered by this?”

“Did it bother _you_?” Connor answers with his own question.

Hank opens his mouth to respond that yes _of course_ it bothered him but then pauses.   _Did_ it bother him?  He didn’t enjoy it, certainly, he wasn’t _that_ fucked up, but he couldn’t deny that it had felt… justified to him.  So far, it had been a choice between killing the parasite or letting someone innocent get killed or seriously injured.  He knows he made the right call both times. And maybe that’s what bothers him, that it _doesn’t_ bother him as much as he feels it should.

Connor drums his fingers against Hank’s chest, pulling him out of his thoughts, waiting for an answer.  Hank sighs.

“It… did.  But not as much as I think it should.  And that scares me.”

Connor ponders that.  “Well, it doesn’t bother me.  And I suppose that’s not entirely fair since I have some distance from it,” he tells Hank, thinking out loud.  “I think… if I did kill someone, even if they deserved it, it would bother me. So I understand your reasoning. But I think the only thing that bothers me about this… is that it upset _you,_ that it’s been bothering _you._ ”  Hank huffs, ready to argue, but Connor isn’t finished.  “Let me ask you this, Hank. If our roles were reversed, if _I_ killed a bad person, someone who would have killed _me_ otherwise _,_ would _you_ be bothered by it?”

“Of course not,” Hank answers immediately and then has to concede to Connor’s point.  The younger man smiles triumphantly at him, and Hank rolls his eyes, knowing he’s lost.  “Okay, I get it,” he relents.

Connor hums in approval, snuggling closer to Hank.  “No matter what, I know that you’re a good person who would always try to do the right thing,” Connor states, “so I know that you wouldn’t do it to be vindictive or cruel, and that’s… admirable.  I’m not sure I can say the same thing about me…” Connor trails off, and knows he’s thinking about his inevitable confrontation with Elijah. He also thinks that Connor's being very generous in his assessment because he certainly _felt_ vindictive and cruel when he killed those men.  But he doesn't argue.

“Hey,” Hank murmurs, holding him tighter.  “You’re a good person too, Con. And I’ll be with you when… we find him.  And whatever you decide to do, I’m gonna support it.” _Hell, I’ll kill the prick myself if it’ll make Connor feel better_ , he thinks.  

“You can’t possibly know whether or not I’m a good person, Hank,” Connor says, hooking a leg over Hank’s own.  

Hank snorts.  “But you know that _I’m_ a good person?” he challenges, and Connor is caught by his own logic.

“Fine, fine…” he reluctantly agrees.  “We’re both incredibly wonderful people,” he says, sounding slightly sarcastic.

“Fuckin’ delightful,” Hank concurs, happy to hear Connor laugh at that.

Connor scoots up slightly, pressing a lingering kiss to Hank’s mouth, and then settles beside him.  “So, tell me. What all happened since we met?”

And Hank does.


	26. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> previously: _Connor scoots up slightly, pressing a lingering kiss to Hank’s mouth, and then settles beside him. “So, tell me. What all happened since we met?”_
> 
> _And Hank does._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more NSFW!!!! lucky you. i hope.

To Connor’s credit, he lets Hank get through the whole story without interrupting.  And Hank tells him the _whole_ story.  About killing himself, meeting Amanda, and what she’s demanded of him.  He tells Connor about the hospital, and Luther, and Doctor Z. How Doctor Z killed him and then Hank returned the favor.  He talks about the woman he saved from the Doctor’s clutches, and how he knows he made the right decision.

Then he tells him about Ortiz, and how he killed himself again.  Connor’s grip tightens around him when he mentions the bleach, and the gunshot to the head, and Hank pauses, pressing a kiss to his temple.  He tells him about how he killed Ortiz, and he knows that is hard for Connor to hear. He goes about it as delicately as possible, sparing most of the details.  Finally, Hank tells him about H.K., about how the other man helped him and then disappeared without so much as a goodbye.

When Hank finishes his tale, Connor is silent.  “Con…?” he asks hesitantly.

Connor shifts, looking up at him, biting his lip.  Hank fights the sudden urge to take it between his teeth instead.  “Hank, I…” Connor trails off, unsure of what to say. Hank gets it, if someone else told him the story that he just told Connor, he would have thought they were nuts.

“I’m not asking you to believe me, I know how it sounds,” Hank assures him.

“I don’t know what to think,” Connor tells him.  “I don’t… I _can’t_ really believe it, but I also don’t believe you are making things up… I believe that you believe it, at any rate.”

“Hey, that’s good enough for me for now,” Hank tells him.  “I mean, I could prove it to you, but I don’t think you’d like that very much.”

“Absolutely not, Hank!” Connor tells him quickly.  “I hope there is never a situation where it is necessary for your story to be proven or disproven.”

“Yeah, me neither,” Hank admits.  “Haven't really died under… pleasant circumstances so far.”  He can tell Connor is experiencing some sort of cognitive dissonance, his brow furrowed.  “Ignoring all the hard to believe things, though, how do you feel about… everything else I told you?” he asks nervously.

Connor answers this question much more firmly.  “I already told you, Hank. It doesn’t change anything.”  Hank feels stupidly happy to hear that confirmation and exhales in relief.  “Were you really worried this whole time that I would think badly of you?”

“Well, I mean, yeah,” Hank tells him.  “It seems like a pretty reasonable thing to worry about.  I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted… out.” Even thinking about it makes pain bloom in Hank’s chest, but Connor props himself up on his elbows to look at him seriously.

“Hank,” Connor holds his gaze, making sure he has his full attention.  He always does. “Nothing you can tell me is going to make me leave. I’m afraid you’re stuck with me now until-” Connor cuts himself off, changing course.  “I have… very strong feelings for you. And I intend to be with you. So unless you tell me to leave… I’m staying.”

The conviction in Connor’s voice gets to Hank, and he’s suddenly fighting the urge to cry.  Not out of sadness, quite the opposite. He can’t remember the last time he felt anything but sadness before Connor and all the intense emotions that he’s been experiencing since their whirlwind romance began feel like they’re suddenly catching up with him.  He blinks quickly, but it’s not enough to stop a few tears from escaping and rolling down his cheeks. Connor looks concerned for a moment, before he sees the smile on his partner’s face. He returns it with one of his own as he closes the distance between them once more, thumbs swiping over his cheeks before he presses their lips together.

Hank responds eagerly, nipping at Connor’s bottom lip before pulling the smaller man on top of him.  Connor wasn’t expecting that and he makes a brief noise of surprise before deepening their kiss, legs resting on either side of Hank’s hips.  Soon, he’s got his tongue in Connor’s mouth and his large hands sliding down Connor’s back, making him shiver. Carefully, he works his hands up under the borrowed shirt Connor’s wearing, fingertips running over his bare skin.  Connor breaks the kiss for a moment, and murmurs, “Yes, Hank…” and Hank feels a heady sense of satisfaction at being able to read his partner so well. He’d noticed pretty early in their relationship that this seemed to be a particularly sensitive erogenous zone for Connor.

“S’that good, baby?” Hank asks him quietly, his small smirk indicating he already knows the answer to his own question.  He flattens his hands, palms nearly covering the entire area of Connor’s lower back, and Connor makes a noise that sounds very much like a purr.  Hank feels arousal stirring in his stomach, and then Connor’s mouth is on his neck, licking a long stripe up before trailing kisses back down. Hank groans, while Connor makes a pleased sound, looking for the areas that draw the biggest response from his partner.  He determines the best spots with apparent ease and sucks gently at an area just below his jaw. “Mmm, that’s nice, Con…” Hank urges him on as Connor alternates between gentle kisses and bites, occasionally sucking harder. Hank knows it’s going to leave a sizable mark and finds that idea incredibly pleasing.

Connor stops lavishing attention on his neck and sits back slightly, staring at him, looking like he’s contemplating something.  Then, he’s got his hands on Hank’s chest, his thumbs massaging slow circles on his nipples. Hank groans, arching slightly. “Shit, Connor…”  Connor smiles.

“You react so nicely to this kind of stimulation, Hank,” he murmurs, twisting and pulling gently at the pebbled buds, making Hank grunt.  “Do you think I could make you come, just from this-?” Connor grins and grinds his hips down against Hank’s, once, twice... “-and maybe that?”  Hank’s fairly certain the answer is yes, but he decides he wants to take a more active role this time around.

Without warning, he flips their positions, his body now hovering over Connor’s.  The smaller man looks stunned at first and then aroused by such a casual display of strength from Hank.  Hank grins and settles between Connor’s legs, supporting his weight in just the right way to make Connor feel safe but not smothered.  Connor’s looking at him in apparent awe and reaches up to run a hand through his beard. Hank kisses his fingertips when they get close enough to his lips.  “Let me take care of you this time, Con?” He asks, breath warm against Connor’s fingers.

Connor exhales shakily and rolls his hips up once against Hank’s.  “Please,” he breathes. He doesn’t have to ask twice. Hank sits back on his knees, hands pushing Connor’s borrowed shirt up his torso, just enough to expose his flat stomach.  His fingertips dance gently over pale skin, tracing the barely defined muscles and the sparse trail of hair leading down into his underwear. Following the trail with his eyes, he notes Connor’s growing arousal with a satisfied smirk, which causes the other man to whine needily.  Hank chuckles, leaning down to press a kiss to Connor’s stomach.

Connor’s stomach tenses and Hank continues peppering kisses over the exposed skin, one hand reaching down to cup him through his boxer briefs.  Connor moans loudly at that, hips bucking, desperate for _more_.  “Soon, babe,” Hank promises him. He runs his tongue over Connor’s flat stomach, dipping briefly into his belly button.  Connor shivers, and Hank relishes how responsive his lover is. He rubs his thumb lightly over the damp spot forming on Connor’s underwear, teasing.

“H-hank…” Connor whimpers.  “Please…” But Hank removes his hand, focusing on getting Connor’s shirt off of him instead, being careful not to disturb his hair.  Connor lets out a frustrated groan, which shifts into something else entirely after Hank tosses his shirt to the side and mouths at his nipples.  “Oh…” Connor sighs while Hank busies himself teasing with his mouth and fingers, sucking gently, tongue swirling around them. “Yes…” Connor breathes.  

But Hank’s not done with him yet.  His mouth trails higher, his tongue tracing over Connor's sharp collar bones, nipping and sucking at the skin.  Connor's skin is delicate, bruising easily under Hank's ministrations. Hank soothes the marks he leaves with soft swipes of his tongue. Connor hums contently, but after a moment, Hank decides he’d rather hear those desperate, needy sounds instead.

Connor’s completely hard now, a fact made evident by the tent in his boxer briefs.  Hank’s in a similar state. His hands skim down Connor’s body, over the planes of his stomach and stopping at the elastic waistband of his underwear.  Glancing up, he locks eyes with Connor, making sure everything is still okay. Connor huffs out an impatient sigh, and Hank takes the hint, pulling the thin garment off of him without further delay.  

The younger man makes a relieved sound as his cock finally springs free, and Hank pauses to really take everything in.  Connor's cock is just as perfect as the rest of him, not that Hank expected anything else. It’s not the biggest or the thickest Hank has ever seen, but he can’t take his eyes off it. “God, you even got a pretty dick,” he tells Connor incredulously, making the smaller man blush and moan.

Moisture beads at the head and Hank feels smugly satisfied with just how turned on he's managed to make his partner.  His eyes trail greedily over Connor as his large hands rest on his hips, thumbs running reverently over sharp hip bones.  Connor bucks up, none too subtly bringing Hank’s attention back to his dick and making him snort.

“Yeah, okay baby, I got you,” he murmurs, leaning down and licking a long stripe from the base to the tip.  Connor doesn’t seem to be expecting that, and he throws his head back onto the pillow, back arching slightly.

“Fuck, Hank…” he says, sounding absolutely wrecked already.  Hank takes the head of Connor’s cock into his mouth, tonguing at the slit, tasting him. He’s pleased when Connor moans loudly.  Hank hasn’t sucked a dick in a long time, but he’s relieved to find it seems it’s just like riding a bike. _Or a cock,_ his brain supplies helpfully.  

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes at himself, he takes Connor into his mouth slowly, experimentally.  He holds Connor’s hips to keep him from making any sudden movements, and Connor moans again at the feeling of Hank effortlessly keeping him in place.  Hank runs his tongue along the underside of Connor’s dick once and starts bobbing his head in earnest, trying to find the perfect rhythm to completely unravel his partner.

He seems to get it right pretty quick because soon Connor is panting and moaning almost constantly.  Hank releases his grip on Connor’s hip with one hand, trailing down over Connor’s thigh and between his legs, rubbing a thumb over his balls.  Connor gasps out his name, his own hands gripping the blankets tightly.

It’s not long before Connor’s saying, “Fuck, H-hank, I’m gonna come…” and Hank pulls off to finish him with his hand, selfishly wanting to see Connor fall apart for the second time that day.  He jerks Connor off, fast and steady, and it only takes a few moments before Connor’s coming over his own stomach and Hank’s hand, moaning beautifully, hips jerking.

The sight has Hank shoving his own sweatpants down, just enough to free his dick, groaning when he wraps his hand around himself.  Connor’s breathing heavily, covered in his own release with his eyes slightly unfocused but widening when he really sees Hank for the first time, fully erect and without anything obstructing his view.  “Oh, God,” Connor breathes. “You’re so big…” and Hank groans again, so close. Connor’s tongue pokes out and he licks his lips, making Hank swear. Connor’s eyes, which had been laser-focused on his dick, flick to his face for a moment and then he says, “Come on me, Hank.  Please.”

“Shit, Connor,” Hank pants, frantically working his dick.  

“Please…” Connor repeats, voice low and breathy like he wants it more than anything. That’s enough to finally send him over the edge, coming in long stripes over Connor’s stomach, further dirtying him.  It feels filthy, and Hank’s into it. Connor makes a satisfied noise, and Hank doesn’t have to wonder if he’s into it, too.

He groans when he’s finally spent, barely managing to tuck his dick back into his pants before clumsily collapsing onto the bed beside Connor.  They’re both breathing heavily, and Hank gropes blindly along the bed, seeking the shirt he took off of Connor earlier. Finding it, he wipes his own hand then makes to clean Connor up a little bit, but pauses when he sees the other man running his fingers idly through the mess on his stomach.  Connor’s eyes meet his and he gives him a sleepy grin before sticking his fingers in his mouth, sucking them clean.

“Fuck, Connor, that’s disgusting,” Hank groans, grinning while pulling Connor in for a lazy kiss.  Connor huffs, lips parting, inviting Hank’s tongue into his mouth. Hank readily accepts, tasting their combined release.  He groans again, slowly licking around Connor’s mouth.

When they break the kiss, Hank cleans up Connor with his shirt before tossing it carelessly onto the floor.  He’ll deal with it later. “Didn’t we just fuckin’ get clean?” Hank asks rhetorically, laughing as he pulls Connor in closer.

“Mmm,” Connor mumbles sleepily, nuzzling his face into Hank’s neck.  Hank sighs, utterly content, his hands tracing nonsensical patterns over Connor’s naked skin.  After a few moments, Hank hears Connor’s breathing even out, and somehow, having the other man fall asleep in his arms feels even more intimate than anything else they did today.

_You’re absolutely fucked_ , he thinks to himself.  It’s not a bad thought, though, and he’s smiling softly when he drifts off to sleep, holding Connor close.


	27. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> previously: _“Mmm,” Connor mumbles sleepily, nuzzling his face into Hank’s neck. Hank sighs, utterly content, his hands tracing nonsensical patterns over Connor’s naked skin. After a few moments, Hank hears Connor’s breathing even out, and somehow, having the other man fall asleep in his arms feels even more intimate than anything else they did today._
> 
> _You’re absolutely fucked, he thinks to himself. It’s not a bad thought, though, and he’s smiling softly when he drifts off to sleep, holding Connor close._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmmm warnings for hank bein depressed and sad and that kinda thing in this one

Hank wakes up sometime later, still cradling Connor to his chest.  The other man huffs out a small sigh in his sleep and Hank smiles fondly.  He takes advantage of the quiet moment to really admire his partner, wanting to commit everything to memory.  Connor’s got a few moles on his face, which Hank had already memorized, and he now has intimate knowledge about the moles on other parts of Connor’s body, too.  Again, Hank marvels at the knowledge that Connor chose _him_ of all people to share this with.

Unable to help himself, he gently trails his fingers over Connor’s face.  The only other sound in the room is the rain against the window, and Hank can just barely hear Connor’s soft breathing over it.  

The silence and the late hour make him feel a little melancholy, and he tries to force it down, but he can’t.  It’s been… a few days since he wallowed in his more destructive thoughts, and now it seems like he can’t avoid it anymore.  He suddenly _really_ wants a drink, and the fact that he has absolutely no alcohol in the house hits him like a bus.

“Fuck…” he mutters to himself.  He shouldn’t even be thinking like this, not while he’s lying in bed with someone he… really cares about.  It’s a bleak reminder that he doesn’t deserve Connor, doesn’t deserve any of this. Hank tries to stop himself from falling into the cycle of negativity, but it’s already too late and he’s never been very good at that.  He hasn’t even told Connor about… the biggest thing, yet. The main reason he’s tried to drink himself to death every night for the past four years. Connor’s stuck with him so far, but now Hank worries that might finally be the thing that drives them apart.

And fuck… Connor’s gonna die sooner rather than later, and then he’s going to be alone again.  Unable to even die himself, maybe. _Shit..._

“Hank…?” Connor’s sleepy voice interrupts his downward spiral and Hank panics, not wanting Connor to know the dark things he was thinking.  He doesn’t answer, hoping Connor will go back to sleep, but the other man stirs, looking at him in the dimly lit room.

“You’re crying,” Connor says, and fuck, Hank didn’t even realize… He quickly scrubs at his face with his hand, embarrassed, not wanting Connor to worry.

“Go back to sleep, baby,” Hank tells him, voice tight with suppressed emotion.

Connor frowns, looking downright offended, all traces of tiredness gone.  “I will not,” he tells Hank firmly. “You’re not okay. What’s wrong?” Hank can’t bring himself to answer, feeling if he speaks the thoughts he’s having that they will become all the more real.  

Connor suddenly looks troubled.  “Is it about… what we did earlier?  Was it too much? I’m sorry if I pushed too hard...” and that breaks Hank out of his silence.

“No!  God, no, of course not,” Hank hurries to reassure him.  “It’s nothing, nothing's wrong, don’t worry about me.”

Connor doesn’t buy that.  “It’s obviously not nothing, Hank.  You’re upset. How can I help you?”

Hank’s touched by Connor’s concern, and it’s just one more reason to add to his list of why he doesn’t deserve the other man.  He can’t hold back. “You’re too good for me, Connor,” he tells him, absolutely believing it.

Connor’s face falls.  “Hank, that’s not true at all-”

“No, it is,” Hank cuts him off.  “These last few days with you have been… the best I’ve had in years.  I felt… happy again. But I don’t deserve that, and I definitely don’t deserve to have someone as wonderful as you.”  Connor looks sad, and that just adds fuel to the fire. “And see, even now, I’m laying here with you, finally so fuckin’ content, and yet all I can think about is how badly this is gonna end, how much I want a drink.  I’m not makin’ you happy. This isn’t fair to you.”

Connor puts a finger to his lips, silencing him.  “Listen to me, Hank,” he starts, sounding very serious.  “You are suffering from depression and alcoholism. Those thoughts are normal for someone in your position.  But that doesn’t make you a bad person, or someone undeserving of happiness. I know it’s not going to be easy for you to accept, and I know you’re going to really struggle with this.  I’ve accepted that.  I understand. I think very highly of you, and you make me very happy.”

Hank knows that Connor is right, but he still can’t really believe it.  He can’t look the other man in the eye. But Connor isn’t finished speaking yet.  “And yes, there won’t be a happy ending for us, not really. But all we can do is make the time we _do_ get to spend together as happy as we can.  I don’t want to waste it thinking about the future.  That’s what drove me and Niles apart, and I can’t let that happen again.”  

Hank feels awful that Connor has to shoulder this burden, that he has to be the strong one even though he’s going through so much more than Hank can ever really understand.  But he can’t seem to stop the next words from coming out of his mouth.

“I don’t know if I’ll survive losing you,” he tells Connor in a whisper, and then immediately regrets it.  Fuck, he told himself he wasn’t going to put that on the younger man.

Connor shakes his head firmly.  “No. Hank, no. You can’t think like that.  I will be super pissed at you if you give up after I’m gone.  I won’t allow it.” Hank manages the faintest ghost of a smile at that.  “I’m going to help you. While I still can. We don’t have to talk about this right now if you don’t want to, but ignoring your problems and pretending nothing is wrong isn’t helping you.”

Hank interrupts him.  “That’s not your job, you shouldn't  have to spend your last few months worrying about my sorry ass, I could never ask you to do that.”

“And you didn’t,” Connor counters.  “I _want_ to help you.  Because I care about you.  And you deserve to be happy.  But I won’t be so foolish as to think that I’m going to magically make your life better.”

“You’ve done… pretty great so far,” Hank tells him.

Connor smiles softly.  “I like to think so. But.  That won’t be enough. So, when you’re ready… we’re going to get you some help.  From a professional. Or several professionals.”

Hank opens his mouth to argue, to tell Connor that won’t do shit, but Connor doesn’t let him.  “I know it is hard to admit that you need help. For a whole variety of reasons. You might think I’m being overbearing or bossy, and I am.  Someone has to be. But I am not leaving you without knowing that you have a support system, people to turn to when things are tough. Your coping mechanisms are… not great,” he says, delicately. Hank snorts.  He can’t argue with that. “But, in time, I hope you’ll come to realize how much you’re worth, and that things _can_ get better.”

Hank still thinks it’s a load of shit, that Connor doesn’t know what he’s talking about and that professional help won’t make a lick of difference.  But he holds his tongue, catching the earnest way that Connor is looking at him. Like he actually believes it, like he really thinks Hank can be better.  For a second, Hank almost believes it himself, and if it’ll make Connor happy, he thinks, then he’ll do it. Eventually.

“Okay,” Hank finally says.  Connor perks up. “I’ll think about it.”

“Thank you, Hank,” Connor says, nuzzling his face into the warm spot between Hank’s neck and clavicle.  “It doesn’t have to be right this second,” he murmurs, voice muffled against Hank’s skin. “Just knowing that you’re open to it is enough for now.”  
  
Hank breathes out a sigh when Connor’s lips press softly to his skin, and he can’t keep the faint smile off his face when Connor adjusts himself so he’s sprawled over Hank’s chest, naked skin flush against him.  Hank traces nonsense shapes over Connor’s back with his fingertips, and the two of them lay there in silence together while the rain continues to fall outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK thanks for waiting, i hope the smutty stuff was acceptable eeeeep. more soon!!!!! blease come be my friend on twitter or tumblr!


	28. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> previously: _Hank breathes out a sigh when Connor’s lips press softly to his skin, and he can’t keep the faint smile off his face when Connor adjusts himself so he’s sprawled over Hank’s chest, naked skin flush against him. Hank traces nonsense shapes over Connor’s back with his fingertips, and the two of them lay there in silence together while the rain continues to fall outside._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> slakfdjdslkf im rly sorry, this took way longer than it should, considering i already have the entire story done. lifes been... a lot lately lmfao. but here r some more things for yall. a lil bit of nsfw in this one!

Neither of them goes back to sleep after that, and as gray daylight starts to creep into the room through a gap in the curtains, Hank’s finally starting to feel a little better.  He still feels like he doesn’t deserve even a portion of the affection Connor has gifted him with, but he also can’t deny that having someone care about him so obviously and vehemently feels good.  Every time his mind wants to wander back to the negative thoughts, he tries his best to remember Connor’s words about making the best of what they have right now, and not worrying about the future. It’s much easier in theory than in practice.  But Connor’s right. He doesn’t want to look back on their time together after it’s over and have regrets, he doesn't want to spoil it worrying about the inevitable.

Hank kisses the top of Connor’s head on a whim, and the other man lets out a relieved sigh, glad Hank’s mood seems to have improved.  Hank knows it’s only a matter of time until Sumo is whining at the door, but for now, he basks in the warmth they've created between them, clinging to the serenity of the moment.

Connor finally breaks the silence a few minutes later.  “Hank?” he starts, quietly.

“Hmm?” Hank returns, letting him know he’s listening.  

“I wanted to let you know… I haven’t been with anyone since I got sick.”

Hank huffs out a laugh, not sure what he’s getting at.  “That’s okay?” he answers. “I can guarantee you it’s been even longer for me.”

He can practically feel Connor rolling his eyes.  “I mean. I have a clean bill of health. Besides the obvious, of course.”  Oh. Hank gets it now. “And I realize this is a conversation we should have had… before we became sexually intimate, but I wasn’t really thinking.  And I don’t care too much about myself, what’s the worst that could happen to me anymore, right?” Hank frowns. “But it was wrong of me not to inform you of that regardless.”

Hank runs a hand gently up Connor’s spine, making him shiver.  “Well, I wasn’t thinking either. So don’t beat yourself up about it.  If I was really concerned, I coulda asked you. It wasn’t even something that crossed my mind.  But ah... same here.” This entire conversation feels awkward to Hank, but he knows, logically, this is a Thing that grownups do, and that it’s a necessary conversation to have of they plan to continue their sexual relationship.

Connor hums in acknowledgment.  “Well, I assumed as much, I’m sure you’re not the type to risk another person’s health irresponsibly.”

Hank laughs.  “And you think I don’t think the exact same thing about you?”  Connor doesn’t answer, opting to press a kiss to Hank’s chest instead.

After a moment, Connor speaks again.  “This certainly gives me… some things to think about.  Perhaps to look forward to?” Connor trails off suggestively, and Hank groans.

“You tryin’ to get me goin’  _again_?” he asks.  “Because it just might work.”

Connor lifts his head from Hank’s chest to grin at him, but before anything else can happen a loud knock on the front door interrupts them.  Sumo starts barking wildly, excited for a visitor, and Connor reluctantly untangles himself from Hank.

“Fuckin’ unbelievable, I’ve had more people knockin’ on my front door in the past week than in the past year,” he complains, hauling himself out of bed.  He grabs a shirt from his closet and throws it on quickly. “I’ll go see who it is, you can wait here,” Hank tells him, contemplating his dwindling amount of clean shirts.

“Or you could just ignore the door and come back to bed,” Connor purrs behind him, and when Hank turns he’s greeted by the sight of Connor spread out on top of the covers, his naked body looking like a work of art.

“ _Jesus_ ,” Hank groans, eyes running hungrily over his partner, and he’s already halfway back across the room when the knock on the door sounds again, louder than before.  Sumo’s still going nuts, and Hank tears his gaze from Connor very reluctantly. “I’ll tell them to fuck off, don’t move,” he mutters.

“Hurry,” Connor tells him with a smirk, hand sliding down his stomach towards his dick, and Hank doesn’t waste any more time, exiting his room and pulling the door shut behind him, ready to bite the head off of whoever had the _audacity_ to show up at this particular moment.  Sumo bounces around his legs happily on the way to the door, and Hank makes a mental note to feed him and let him out before he gets back to Connor and… whatever the other man has planned.

However, as he unlocks the door and throws it open, he realizes that he might not be able to get rid of this visitor so easily.  “Shit. Jeff,” he says stupidly, staring at his longtime friend and current boss. Jeffrey Fowler.

“Eloquent as always, Hank,” Jeffrey says sarcastically.  Hank doesn’t move. “Are you gonna let me in?”

“Uh, geeze, I would, Jeff but I’m kinda… busy at the moment,” Hank tells him, scratching his head awkwardly.  Sumo wiggles past Hank and out into the hall, jumping excitedly on the familiar visitor. Jeffrey pets his head before giving Hank an unimpressed look.

“Too busy to return my calls, it seems,” the other man says sarcastically.  “You haven’t been at work, what could you possibly be busy with-” his question ends abruptly, staring at Hank in surprise before his eyes widen in understanding.  He’s looking at Hank’s neck, and Hank remembers too late the massive hickey Connor left on him last night. “A friend from out of town, huh?” Jeffery asks him, raising an eyebrow, and Hank groans.

“Fuck off,” he says, without any real heat behind it, moving defeatedly out of the way and letting his boss follow him into the apartment.  So much for getting back to Connor in a hurry. “Gimme a fuckin’ second,” he mutters, heading down the hall to his room to inform Connor about the change of plans, calling, “you really owe me for this,” over his shoulder.

Connor’s still where he left him, languidly stroking himself, and Hank curses Fowler’s horrible timing yet again.  Connor looks at him eagerly, letting his legs fall open, being the exact opposite of subtle in letting Hank know what he wants.

“Fuuuuck…” Hank groans, focusing intensely on his partner.  He can’t help but cross the room and lean over the bed to kiss him, and Connor responds instantly, reaching up to get him back into bed.   _Very_ reluctantly Hank pulls away.  Connor pouts, and Hank can’t resist running a hand over his flat stomach, making Connor sigh contently.  “Shit, babe, I’m sorry…” Hank starts, unable to decide which part of Connor he wants to look at most. He rests his hand on Connor’s thigh, imagining running it higher, taking Connor’s half-hard dick in his hand… _shit, no, focus._

“It’s my boss, he’s not gonna fuck off too easily.”  Connor looks at him like he just told him Christmas was canceled, and if Hank’s will was just a tiny bit weaker he’d be undressed and in bed with Connor again, Jeffery be damned.  As it is, he settles for sliding his hand just a bit higher, making Connor squirm. He briefly considers getting Connor off regardless of their company, he's confident it wouldn't take much, but he dismisses the idea, knowing the smaller man wouldn't be able to keep quiet.  He's not sure he'd be able to face Jeff after that, either.

“I’ll try to make it as quick as I can,” Hank tells him, rubbing his thigh gently, “but I can’t promise anything.  He loves to get on my case. And… he’s got a pretty big reason to right now.”

Connor sits up at that, and then stands so he’s facing Hank.  “You’re right. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t keep you from talking to your boss.”

Hank chuckles and wraps his arms around Connor, pulling him close.  “I wish you could, honestly,” he says lowly in Connor’s ear, unable to resist reaching down and grabbing his ass with both hands.

“Oh…” Connor breathes, head falling onto Hank’s chest and barely muffling the moan that escapes him when Hank squeezes.  “Entirely unfair,” he says weakly, making Hank grin. “I’ll get you back for that.”

“I look forward to it,” Hank tells him, kissing his forehead and letting go of him with extreme difficulty.  “Don’t feel like you have to stay in here, but don’t feel like you have to come out, either, Jeff’s gonna be… a little intense, probably.”

Connor looks like he’s still trying to settle down, and he blinks slowly at Hank.  Hank’s not really sure if he actually comprehended anything he just said. “Mhmm…” he hums, unfocused.  Hank laughs again and kisses him one last time before leaving the room, closing the door behind him again.

Jeffery is settled on the sofa with Sumo, having made himself right at home as if it hasn’t been years since he was last over.  He gives Hank an unimpressed look when he joins him, and Hank glowers at him in return. “You’re really puttin’ a damper on my morning, Jeff, I gotta be honest.” He goes to let Sumo out into the backyard before remembering there’s still a massive hole in the fence.  “Shit, hang on,” he says, clipping Sumo's leash onto his collar and taking him out the side door, glad when the dog doesn't dawdle in the rain. Sumo shakes out his fur when they re-enter the house, and Hank goes into the kitchen to fill his bowl, putting off this conversation with Fowler as long as he can.

But, now he's out of excuses and reluctantly makes his way back into the living room to face the other man.  He settles into the armchair across from the sofa, trying to prepare himself for the incoming interrogation. “So, what can I do for you?” Hank asks as if he doesn’t already know.

Fowler leans forward.  “I’ve been trying to get ahold of you for days, and you didn’t return my calls.  And after your… visitor called to tell us you disappeared and I dismissed it, I started to feel… uneasy when I didn’t hear back from you.  I would have sent Reed to check on you, but I thought you might not appreciate that very much.” Jeffery’s got just the barest hint of a smirk on his face.

Hank grimaces.  “Yeah, I appreciate that.  Last thing I needa see right now is that guy.”  Even though his colleague, Detective Reed, lives in the same apartment building, Hank rarely sees him, as he goes out of his way to avoid him whenever he can.  Hank doesn’t like being social with even the nicest people, and Reed is about as far from that as someone can get.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Connor quickly duck out of his bedroom and into the spare room, wearing nothing but yet another one of Hank’s shirts.  He keeps his eyes firmly on Fowler, not wanting to draw attention to Connor’s movements.

Fowler nods shortly.  “The least I could do,” he says, the corner of his mouth ticking up just slightly.  However, the mood shifts quickly, and he’s suddenly looking very serious. “I needed to know that you were alright, Hank.  When I heard about what happened-”

Hank quickly cuts him off.  “It’s okay. I’m fine, it was a stupid mistake and I’m lucky it didn’t work.”  Fowler looks like he doesn’t believe Hank at all.

“I should have done something, Hank.  I knew you weren’t in a good place, I knew you weren’t taking care of yourself, and I just let it continue.  I failed not only as your superior officer but as your friend.”

Hank really hates all of this.  He’s always been one to suppress his emotions, to pretend everything was fine and ignore upsetting things.  Quickly, he tries to halt the direction the conversation is going, holding up a hand. “Listen. That’s not your responsibility.  And I’m workin’ on it now. So you don’t have to worry, or feel guilty, or whatever.”

Jeffery hates this kind of conversation as much as Hank does, and he looks relieved that Hank doesn’t seem to want to get into it.  But still, he persists a bit more. “I want you to know… you can reach out to me if things get that bad again. And I’m going to insist you have a psych eval before you come back to work.”  Hank nods, expecting that after what Connor told him. “And… take your time with that. Don’t feel like you have to come back right away. There will always be a place for you there when you’re ready.  If you’re ready.”

Hank gives him a sad smile.  “Yeah, that’s something I wanted to talk to you about…” But their conversation is interrupted by Connor trying to slip quietly from the spare room, now fully clothed, much to Hank’s relief and disappointment.  His attempt at stealth is foiled by Sumo when the big goof sees Connor and bounds at him like he hasn’t seen him in ages, instead of just overnight. He’s barking happily and jumping up on the dark haired man, and both Hank and Jeffrey look over to see what the commotion is.

“Sumo…” Connor groans in exasperation, embarrassed at being caught.  But his face melts into a smile as he scratches behind the dog’s ears, unable to resist.  Jeffrey turns back to Hank, an incredulous look on his face, just in time to catch Hank smiling stupidly at Connor and the dog.  Connor finally evades Sumo’s enthusiastic greeting, and cautiously makes his way toward where Hank and his boss are sitting. He’s dressed in tight, dark jeans and fuzzy gray sweater, making him look delicate and soft.  His black scarf is wrapped loosely around his neck, skillfully hiding any marks Hank might have left on him during the prior evening. God, Hank’s smitten. He figures this is gonna be another awkward conversation, so he dives right into it.

“Con, this is Jeffrey Fowler, my boss.  Jeff, this is Connor Hunt.” Connor nervously sticks out his hand, murmuring a quiet ‘hello’ when Jeffrey shakes it.

“We spoke on the phone,” Connor says, seeming unsure how to act around Fowler.  Fowler nods, still looking thunderstruck. _Rude,_ Hank thinks.  _Is it_ that  _surprising that I could manage to hook someone that hot?_ He thinks that over.  _Actually, it probably is_ , he concludes after a moment.  He’s not dated anyone in ages, and Jeff knows that.  Hank kinda still can’t believe that the first person he’s had a romantic interest in after years of being alone is an incredibly gorgeous guy who literally just showed up at his front door and saved his life, so he can see why Fowler is having trouble with that too.  And his boss doesn’t even know the story of how he and Connor got together.

Connor shifts awkwardly and clears his throat.  “I was going to run to the store, we seem to be in desperate need of groceries.  Is there anything in particular you would like?” Hank feels a warmth in his chest at Connor’s casual use of ‘we’ when talking about them.  It’s such a small thing, but it reminds him that he isn’t alone anymore.

“Nah, whatever is fine,” he tells Connor.  “My wallet’s in our bedroom, you can grab that-”

Connor shakes his head.  “It’s quite alright. It’s on me this time.”  Connor gives him a small smile, and Hank realizes he just referred to his bedroom as ‘our’s’ and he flushes very slightly.  It’s a bit presumptuous of him, but he thinks Connor will go for it.

Hank doesn’t want Connor to feel like he has to buy their groceries, but he doesn't put up a fuss in front of Jeff, deciding they can figure it out later.  “Okay. My keys are by the front door. Take the car, it’ll be easier that way.” Connor lights up at the casual display of trust from Hank and nods. Hank stands to accompany him to the door, muttering, “Be right back, Jeff,” before leading Connor away, a hand on the small of his back.  

He could tell Connor wasn’t sure how to act around their guest.   _I didn't want to out you to your boss if he didn't already know,_ Connor’s voice echoes in his head.   _S_ _o fuckin’ considerate_ , Hank thinks fondly.  He wants to assure Connor that he is totally fine with people knowing about them.  He honestly can’t believe that _Connor_ is okay with it, though. _Stop that shit,_ he tells himself, not wanting to get caught up in bringing himself down again.

He corners Connor by the front door, kissing him softly, uncaring that Jeff is in the other room and can very likely see them from the sofa.  Connor clutches the front of his shirt and sighs happily when they part. “It’s okay?” he says quietly.

“Yeah,” Hank assures him, cupping his jaw with one hand.  “Very okay.”

Connor smiles at that, releasing Hank’s shirt and grabbing his keys from the table by the door.  He stands on his toes and kisses Hank’s cheek, murmuring, “I put my cellphone number in yours. If you need me to stay away longer so you can talk, just text me.”

Hank pulls him into another kiss, and hears Fowler shout from the sofa, “Seriously, Anderson?”  He breaks away, laughing, and Connor blushes slightly. He shows Jeff his middle finger and hears his friend snort.

“You don’t need to stay away, baby,” he tells Connor in a private voice as his partner heads out the door.  “Come home whenever you’re done shopping.”

Connor gives him an affectionate smile.  “Okay. I’ll be home soon.” Hank grins.

_Home._


	29. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> previously: _“You don’t need to stay away, baby,” he tells Connor in a private voice as his partner heads out the door. “Come home whenever you’re done shopping.”_
> 
> _Connor gives him an affectionate smile. “Okay. I’ll be home soon.” Hank grins._
> 
> _Home._

Hank closes the door behind Connor, leaning against it for a moment before heading back to the living room to face Jeff’s inevitable badgering.  Flopping back into the chair, he waves his hands at the other man. “Come on. Let’s hear it, then.”

“ _That’s_ who you’ve been shacking up with?” is the first thing out of his friend’s mouth.  “Hank, please don’t take this the wrong way, but are you paying him?”

Hank sputters indignantly.  “I don’t think there is a _right_ way to take that, Jeff.”  Hank tries his hardest not to get too annoyed, aware of how his relationship with Connor might look to an outsider.  Jeff holds his hands up in apology, but Hank waves it off. “Fair enough question, though, I guess. But the answer is no.”

Fowler narrows his eyes slightly, looking for any signs of deception.  Seemingly satisfied there are none to be found, he relaxes slightly, leaning back into the sofa and folding his arms across his chest.  “Okay. How long has this been going on? You’ve never mentioned him before.”

Hank rolls his eyes, trying to deflect the question, knowing how weirdly close he and Connor have gotten only after a few days is probably… not normal.  “Like I’m gonna go around talkin’ about my boyfriend in a police station full of macho dickheads. And Reed,” is his non-answer.

Fowler gives him a skeptical stare.  “You have a miniature bisexual pride flag in your pencil mug at work.  I hardly think you would feel the need to be discrete.”

Hank groans.  “Yeah, okay, whatever.  It’s a fairly recent thing.”  He just doesn't mention exactly _how_ recent it really is.  He’s not sure why he’s so concerned about what others will think about that.  Perhaps because he himself still finds it a bit strange. Perhaps because he still worries it’s all too good to be true.

“How old even is he, exactly?” Fowler asks.  “Because he looks like he’s… quite a bit younger than you.  I wasn’t aware that was… something you were into.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Hank bites out, angry.  In part because the age gap between him and Connor _is_ something that he worries about, and in part, because he realizes he doesn’t actually know.  That is definitely something he is going to have to find out. “Just let it be, okay? We… care about each other.  We didn’t plan it or anything. He makes me happy. And I hope that I do the same for him. He’s incredibly attractive and talks like he's got an entire _dictionary_ in his head, but he seems to like _me_ for some unfathomable reason.  And if you _ever_ tell anyone I was bein’ this fuckin’ sappy, I will deny it all, and then probably hit you.”

Fowler finally seems satisfied.  “Okay, fine. I can’t deny you seem happier than you have since-”

Hank quickly interrupts him.  “I am.”

Fowler knows he’s avoiding the subject, but lets it slide.  “Before Connor came out here and got you all starry-eyed you said you wanted to talk to me about something,” he prompts.

“I did not get ‘starry-eyed’-”

“Oh yes, you most certainly did!”

“Fuck you.”

Fowler waits a beat, then tries again.  “What did you want to talk to me about, Hank?”

Hank sighs and looks away from his friend.  “I’m gonna need some time off.”

Jeffrey frowns.  “We’ve already discussed that. It’s fine.”

Hank shakes his head.  “No, I mean… awhile. Like, maybe I should just quit.”

Jeffrey tilts his head in question.  “What do you mean?”

It takes Hank a moment to answer, trying to find the right way to word things.  As much as he doesn’t want to tell other people Connor’s business, he can’t really see a way around it this time.  He sighs again, heavily. “Connor’s sick. Terminally. I gotta… I gotta be able to take care of him, to be there when he needs me.”

Fowler’s face falls.  “How long will you need to… take care of him?” he asks delicately.

“He’s only got about six months,” Hank tells his friend, voice tight.  “And after that… I don’t know how long it’ll take me to feel ready to come back to work.”  His voice lowers. “I honestly… can’t even imagine what I’m gonna be like when he’s gone. So, it might be over a year before I’m even ready to come back.”  He’s having a hard time pretending that he actually intends to live much longer than Connor. He knows he promised his partner he’d get better, but right now that thought sounds downright laughable.

“Oh,” says his boss quietly.  “Hank, I’m so sorry-”

Hank quickly cuts him off.  “So, yeah. I’m not planning on coming back anytime soon.  I don’t know how long you can wait for me to come back, but a year seems like it might be a little too much to ask.”

“Are you going to be able to live like that?  Without an income?”

Hank shrugs.  “I got plenty stashed away, it’s not like I’ve been spending money on much besides booze and dog food these last few years.”  He doesn’t want to look at his friend and see the sympathy in his eyes.

“I’ll see what strings I can pull, maybe we can get you an early retirement or something…”

Hank’s oddly touched by Jeffrey’s willingness to help.  He runs a hand through his hair awkwardly. “Yeah, uh, thanks.”

Neither man wants to continue this rather emotional conversation, and thankfully Fowler rises to his feet after that, ready to take his leave.  Hank follows suit and walks with him to the door.

“Hope you’re not planning on saying goodbye to me like you did to Connor,” Fowler says seriously, and Hank shoves him half-heartedly.

“Fuck off,” he tells him yet again, but this time, he’s smiling.  Jeffrey stops him before he closes the door.

“Hank, really.  If you need anything in the coming months… please contact me.”

Hank flounders for a moment, but manages a gruff, “Yeah, okay,” before they say their goodbyes.  He exhales loudly, glad he’s gotten that conversation over and done with. Now he doesn’t have to think about going back to work anytime soon and can focus on making the most of his time with Connor.  With that in mind, he flops down onto the sofa, stretching out to wait for his partner to return.

 

* * *

 

Hank’s been laying on the sofa, switching back through random apps on his phone for about another 20 minutes before the sound of the front door unlocking announces Connor's return.  Hank hauls himself up and makes his way to the entry to help Connor with the grocery bags. Sumo is ahead of him, though, and tries to jump up on the younger man the second he enters the apartment, weighed down with grocery bags.  Hank quickly intercepts the massive dog, saving Connor from ending up on the floor surrounded by his purchases.

Connor smiles at him from behind one of the many bags he’s carrying.  “Thank you, Hank,” he chirps when Hank relieves him of some of his bags.  Hank leans in and pecks a quick kiss to his lips in response, and Connor flushes slightly with happiness.  

“Geeze, babe, what all did you buy?” Hank calls behind him, making his way into the kitchen.  Connor’s got about 5 bags, stuffed full of various necessities. Hank shakes his head affectionately and laughs when he realizes Connor bought the reusable bags instead of going with plastic.  The other man sees his look and sets his bags down with a huff.

“It’s good for the environment, Hank!” he tells him, looking ready to jump into a full-scale debate if he must.  Hank puts his own bags down and wanders over to the other man, pinning him against some free counter space, large hands resting on either side of delicate hips.

“You are so fucking precious,” he murmurs, leaning down to rest his forehead against Connor’s.  The fight drops out of Connor instantly and he blushes, looking to the side.

“Oh,” he says quietly, with a soft smile.  Hank leans in to kiss him again, slow and gentle.  He’s not sure what it is about the other man, but everything in him screams to take his time, to make everything as fucking tender as possible.  It’s almost sickeningly sweet, and not at all what Hank’s used to in relationships. Sure, he wouldn’t be opposed to pinning Connor to the wall and fucking him senseless, but mostly, all he really wants is to show him how much he means to him through his actions and his words.  To hold him as they fall asleep. To kiss him, deep and gentle. To make love to him.

_Love?_  Hank shakes those thoughts from his head and refocuses on his current activity, kissing Connor.  It’s a slow, closed mouth kiss, languid and gentle. Connor’s got his arms around Hank’s neck, and Hank holds the other man’s hips.  Finally, reluctantly, Connor breaks away. “We should really put the groceries away first,” he says, sounding regretful. Hank chuckles.

“Yeah, okay, you’re right.”  The two set about putting things in their designated areas.  Hank notices Connor bought a lot of… healthy shit. Vegetables and whole grains and stuff Hank isn’t even really too familiar with.  But, to be fair, Connor did buy everything with his own money. And he has a sneaking suspicion that Connor is trying to get him onto a healthier path.  He’s surprised, then, when he opens a bag and finds a six pack of beer inside. He looks to Connor questioningly, and the other man shrugs.

“You’ve been drinking… quite heavily for a long while now.  And you were very distressed last night when you realized there was no alcohol in the house.  I think it would be a mistake for you to quit all at once. So I thought… it might be a good idea to have something lighter around for you.”  Connor looks uncertain, worried he might have done something wrong, but Hank just gives him an appreciative smile.

“You’re fuckin’ sweet, Con,” Hank murmurs.  Connor smiles and winks at him from across the kitchen and continues putting away his groceries.  Hank’s just about to the bottom of his last bag when he discovers something that is… definitely not grocery related.  

“Well,” he says in a teasing voice, holding his new discoveries out for Connor, “you're certainly prepared.”

Connor looks over to see what Hank's found and then blushes but looks determined. “I intend to have sex with you,” Connor says in that startlingly blunt way of his. “That is, if you're amenable, of course.”

“Oh, I'm a whole lot more than just amenable, honey,” Hank tells him with a suggestive grin.

Connor gets a pleased smile on his face at those words. “Well, then you can understand why I purchased these items,” he says, gesturing to the lube and condoms in Hank's hands.   “I know we discussed that we are both… clean, but I thought it better to purchase condoms anyway, in case you didn't feel comfortable with just my word.”

Hank tosses the box of condoms to the side and crowds into Connor's space.  “Oh, I trust you, sweetheart,” he growls in his ear. “And if you want it raw, I’ll give it to you.”  He pauses, dropping the suggestive act. “As long as it's okay with you, too. You don't have to take just my word, either.”  

Connor looks up at Hank with hooded eyes. “I want to feel all of you,” Connor tells him, biting his lip.

“Fuck…” Hank groans, reaching forward and wrapping arms around Connor's waist.  Pulling him closer, Hank nuzzles his face against the other man’s. “I’m an old man, Con, I don’t think I’m meant to be this turned on all the time.”  His own words remind him of the conversation with Fowler earlier. “Hey, how old are you anyway?”

Connor snorts.  “I’m thirty-four.”  Hank hums as he absorbs this new information.  Connor’s older than he looks. He rests a hand on the small of Connor’s back, knowing that it makes the younger man melt.  He’s not disappointed by Connor’s happy sigh. “How old are you, Hank?” Connor asks in return.

“... forty-seven,” Hank tells him, watching the younger man to gauge his reaction. Connor nods amicably and pulls Hank down for a quick kiss.  Hank thinks that went well.

“Why do you ask, though?” says Connor when their kiss ends.

Hank runs his hand up Connor’s spine and rests it on the back of his neck.  “Fowler was asking, and I realized I didn’t actually know. I know all this really deep important shit about you, but I don’t know simple things, like your birthday or your favorite color.”

Connor gives him a gentle smile. “August 15th.  And blue,” he tells Hank, looking deep into his eyes.  “The exact shade of blue your eyes are.”

Hank barks out a laugh.  “You’re so fuckin’ sappy,” he grins.  Connor rests his head against his chest, smiling serenely.  

“What else would you like to know?” the smaller man asks, arms around Hank.

“God,” Hank murmurs quietly, “I wanna know everything about you.”  He feels Connor shaking slightly in his embrace and realizes he’s laughing.

“Now who’s the sappy one?” Connor teases.

“Only where you’re concerned, sweetheart,” Hank tells him.  Connor makes a happy sound and hides his face in Hank’s chest, slightly overcome.  Hank sways them gently back and forth where they stand until Connor finally looks up at him.  
  
“Well, I would like to know everything about you as well, Hank,” he tells him.  Hank smiles and leads him from the kitchen and into the living room, where they curl up on the sofa together, sharing a blanket and details about their lives for the rest of the afternoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> once again hanks a lil younger than canon because of some changes abt cole etc etc. also he is openly and unapologetically bi and u cant convince me otherwise and also i stole the mini pride flag from captain holt shrug


	30. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> previously: _“Well, I would like to know everything about you as well, Hank,” he tells him. Hank smiles, and leads him from the kitchen and into the living room, where they curl up on the sofa together, sharing a blanket and details about their lives for the rest of the afternoon._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and a little bit of a time skip to move some plot along, finally

And so the days pass.  Connor fits into his life seamlessly, like he was always there.  He cleans the house when he thinks Hank isn’t watching, and it looks better than it has in years.  The shower now holds a huge variety of different products, one of Connor’s favorite indulgences. Hank has to admit, the bodywash Connor picks out for him is much nicer than the one it replaces.  And _conditioner?_ Unbelievable.  Connor’s possessions spread out through their shared living space, making the house look homier than it has in years.  

Every day he learns a little bit more about Connor and offers up random trivia about himself as well.  Hank learns more about Niles and Connor's childhood, his time spent working IT, and hears more about his family.  Or rather, lack of family. Connor never tires hearing about Hank's days in the police academy, and loves listening to all the strange cases he's dealt with.  They can easily spend hours just _talking_ to each other about anything, and getting to know Connor feels easy and natural.

Sumo’s happy to have both of them around, getting way more attention than he normally does.  Everything feels too good to be true. Hank knows they’ll have to face the real world eventually, but for now, they stay in his apartment, spending time wrapped up in each other.  They get to know each other better. They fall asleep together and wake up in the morning in each other’s arms. Before he knows it, they’ve been together for a month. It feels like forever and yet also like no time at all.  Hank wishes it could always be this way.

 

* * *

 

One afternoon finds them sitting in the spare room, Connor perched on the old cot and Hank leaning against a box, while Connor types away furiously at his laptop.  Connor spends every night in Hank’s bed, and ‘Connor’s Room’ has quickly become ‘The Spare Room’ again.  It’s still a little difficult for Hank to be in there, but having Connor by his side really helps. Right now, Connor is currently trying to convince Hank that he absolutely needs to join facebook.

“Babe, what’s the point?” Hank’s whining.  “I don’t have any friends besides you and I see you every day?”

“Well, maybe you would _have_ more friends if you interacted with people, even if it was just online!” Connor argues.

Hank huffs.  “I just… don’t really see the point.  Why would I wanna tell people that I’m having a shitty day?”

Connor pouts.  “That’s not all you would use it for.  You can share happy things with your friends, too.”

“Con, to reiterate.  I don’t have any friends.”

“Well, with that attitude I can see why.”  Connor leans forward to kiss him, taking any sting out of his words.

“Brat,” Hank murmurs against his lips, grinning slightly.  “Meanwhile, you seem to have over 400 friends? How’s that happen?”  Hank's willing to bet at least half of those 'friends’ want to fuck him.

Connor shrugs.  “What can I say?  I’m incredibly likable.”  Hank snorts, unable to argue with that.  Connor scoots around, blocking Hank’s view of the screen, and a few moments later he glances back over his shoulder guiltily.

“What did you do?” Hank says, suspicious.

“Well…” Connor pauses.  “I created a profile for you.”

“Oh my god…” Hank mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose.  “Con, what am I even gonna do with it?”

“Just look for people you know, Hank!  People from work, people you went to school with…”

Hank crosses his arms and scoffs.  “Not likely.”

“You’re being difficult on purpose, Hank,” Connor pouts.  Hank wants to tell him that he really isn’t, that he can’t honestly think of anyone he cares about enough to want to be “friends” with on social media, but he kind of doesn’t want to admit to that.  Instead, he tries to distract his partner, nodding his head toward the screen.

“Friends: 0.  That’s all you need to know.”

Connor frowns, and after some fast clicking, turns back to Hank with a smug smile.  “There. I added you. Now you have one. And that’s a start.”

Hank rolls his eyes, but can’t find it in him to be truly annoyed when Connor is so fucking… cute.  And he’s sure that the other man is trying to find people for Hank to connect with, so he has someone after his inevitable death, and the gesture is… sweet.  Morbid and depressing, but sweet nonetheless.

Hank sighs.  “Yeah, alright baby,” he says, moving to sit on the bed beside Connor, wrapping an arm around him.  “I guess it’s a start.”

Connor curls closer to him, radiating pleased energy.  He does a bit more clicking, then pauses, giving Hank an uncertain look.

“Is it okay… if I list us as ‘in a relationship’?” he asks cautiously.  Hank hates that he even feels like he has to ask, and traces his fingers along his jaw, pulling him into a kiss.  

“I’ll take that as a yes?” Connor says breathlessly when they part.

Hank chuckles.  “Of course,” he tells Connor, pressing a kiss to his cheek.  He watches Connor make it official with a good-natured roll of his eyes.   _Connor Hunt is in a relationship with Hank Anderson._ He can’t deny, it does give him a strange thrill to see it right there, in writing.  “So this is modern romance, huh?”

Connor hums distractedly, and Hank notices he’s already getting likes and comments about his change of status.  “We should give you a profile picture, Hank, so people can see how handsome you are and then be extremely jealous of me.”

Hank laughs out loud and then realizes that Connor isn’t joking.   _Right_ , he thinks.   _Connor_ actually _finds me appealing for some unknown reason._  The thought is still a hard one to process.  “I dunno, Con, maybe later.” Hank doesn’t think he photographs well, and he really isn’t in the mood for it.

Connor seems to sense that he’s pushed enough for now, and relents.  “Okay, Hank. Later. Maybe we will take some photos together,” he says, snuggling closer to him.  “Maybe even make a video.”

It takes Hank a second to process Connor’s suggestive tone, and then he starts laughing, genuinely amused.  And maybe a little turned on at the thought. “That would be just for us, though,” he murmurs, leaning in to trail kisses over Connor’s neck.  Connor eagerly tilts his head, giving Hank easier access. Hank nips gently at the pale, delicate skin, tracing his tongue over the few moles scattered sparsely across his neck.  Connor’s making quiet, pleased noises in his throat, and Hank sucks a fresh hickey on top of one that is all but faded away. Then, he kisses his way back up his neck, across his jaw, and finally presses a lingering kiss to his lips before pulling back.

Connor’s looking at him with unfiltered affection, and Hank knows he’s got a very similar look on his own face.  They sit there in silence for a moment, before Connor pulls his computer onto his lap. “Would you… like to see some pictures of me and Niles?” he asks Hank, sounding like he isn’t even actually sure if he’ll be able to look at them himself.  

“Only if you can handle that, babe,” Hank tells him comfortingly.  He knows it can be extremely difficult to look at pictures of lost loved ones, and Connor’s brother had only died recently.  Connor nods, determined.

“They’re not super recent, we didn’t really take anymore together after I got sick,” Connor says, sounding a little sad as he navigates through his photo albums, searching.  Hank sees a lot of pictures flash past, giving him more of an insight into Connor’s past. Connor chews his lip in concentration, flipping through in search of the perfect photo.  

Finally, he settles on one dated about seven months prior, which would be just before Connor was diagnosed.  Hank’s chest feels tight as he looks at Connor before he knew him, same goofy smile, his brown hair wild and curlier than it is now.  Hank wants to run his hands through it. He often has to stop himself from doing that now, knowing it would make Connor uncomfortable, that he’s self-conscious that the hair is not his own.  Connor’s wearing tight blue jeans and an oversized orange sweater, holding a beer and grinning.

A man who could only be Connor’s brother stands beside him, an arm wrapped around his waist and a glass of red wine in his hand.  He’s smiling, but it’s much more reserved than Connor’s. Hank recognizes the green and black sweater he’s wearing as one that Connor has in his possession now.  Niles is taller than Connor, and his features are sharper, his eyes a cold blue instead of Connor’s warm brown. Said eyes are lined with dark makeup, and Hank notices his nails are painted black, too.  His hair seems to be a few shades darker than Connors, but Hank isn’t sure if it’s dyed or not.

The two of them regard the picture in silence, and when Hank glances at Connor, he realizes the other man is crying, tears rolling silently down his cheeks.  “Oh, sweetheart…” Hank murmurs, carefully setting Connor’s computer aside and drying his face. “It looks like you two were really close, and I’m so sorry you lost him too soon.”  Hank doesn’t really know what else to say to comfort his partner, and just pulls him into his lap, wrapping his arms around him securely.

Connor sniffs, and curls in closer to Hank’s body, seeming so small.  “He would have liked you, Hank,” he tells him. “He was always overly protective of me, always tried to scare off my boyfriends…” and Hank laughs quietly, imagining the younger brother could be quite an intimidating obstacle.  “...but he would have liked you,” Connor repeats, sounding certain.

“I’m glad,” Hank says quietly, kissing Connor’s temple.  “I’m sorry I’ll never get to meet him.” Connor nods sadly.

“I’m not going to let Elijah get away with this,” Connor whispers after a moment.  Hank nods. That jackass has no idea what’s coming his way.

 

* * *

 

The next day Connor wakes up with a bad headache, and the reality of his condition is made apparent again.  Connor waves off Hank’s concern, telling him not to worry, that it’s normal “at this advanced stage”. Connor swears that he’s lucky, that most people have much more severe side-effects.  He stays in bed most of the day, and Hank stays with him, holding him close, with Sumo snuggled up on his other side. The room is dark, lights off and curtains closed so as to not further aggravate Connor.  A few candles burn in the corner. The rain never seems to relent, the downpour still in full swing. With Connor asleep, breathing steadily against his neck, Hank doesn’t have much to distract him from his thoughts.

Connor hasn’t really mentioned a concrete plan for finding Elijah, and Hank is reluctant to bring it up, wanting the other man to do things when he’s ready.  But when Connor’s symptoms make themselves known like this, it makes him worry that they might not have enough time to find the mysterious man. Sumo huffs in his sleep, curling up closer to Connor, and Hank smiles, pushing Elijah from his thoughts.  No matter what’s in store for them down the road, he’s always going to be thankful for quiet moments like this, and he’s not going to let thoughts of Elijah intrude on their downtime.


	31. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> previously: _Connor hasn’t really mentioned a concrete plan for finding Elijah, and Hank is reluctant to bring it up, wanting the other man to do things when he’s ready. But when Connor’s symptoms make themselves known like this, it makes him worry that they might not have enough time to find the mysterious man. Sumo huffs in his sleep, curling up closer to Connor, and Hank smiles, pushing Elijah from his thoughts. No matter what’s in store for them down the road, he’s always going to be thankful for quiet moments like this, and he’s not going to let thoughts of Elijah intrude on their downtime._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> coming in just under the wire for valentines day with some plotty shit. i got a few longer chapters for u tonight cause i wanted to get to a specific part for valentines day lol. i hope u like it :):)

The next day Hank wakes up alone, which has become unusual since Connor moved in.  Connor’s side of the bed is cold, which means he’s probably been up for a while now.  Sumo is also not present, but that doesn’t surprise Hank. The massive dog absolutely favors Connor, and Hank can’t blame him.  Hank’s fairly certain he probably looks a lot like Sumo half the time, following Connor around, looking at him like he hung the fuckin’ moon, most likely drooling.

With a slight shake of his head, he fights his way out from under the covers, exiting the room in search of the other man. The rain still hasn’t let up. He finds Connor in the kitchen, sitting at the table with his hands around a mug of coffee, staring into it blankly.  When he hears Hank approach, he looks up and his expression lightens slightly.

“Good morning,” he says quietly, as Hank crosses the kitchen, nearly tripping over Sumo.  He was so distracted by Connor he didn’t even notice the giant dog curled up by his feet. “I made us some coffee,” Connor tells him, lips pressed together as if he’s trying to hide a smile after watching Hank nearly fall on his face.  Hank lets it slide, and gets his own cup of coffee before sitting down at the table across from Connor.  Something seems off with him today.

“Are you okay, babe?” Hank asks, unsure of how to proceed.  

Connor gives him a self-deprecating smile.  “Not really,” he murmurs, glancing down and trailing his finger around the rim of his mug.  “I’m having a bad day.”

Hank knows all about bad days.  He reaches across the table, offering his hand to Connor.  The younger man glances at the offering, and then reaches forward, lacing their fingers together.  Hank rubs the top of his hand gently with his thumb, at a bit of a loss. Normally, he’s the one having bad days while Connor is trying to cheer him up.  He clears his throat awkwardly. “Do you… do you wanna talk about it?”

Connor’s quiet for a minute then gives Hank a grateful smile.  It’s small, but it’s there, and that’s a start. “Yeah.”

Hank nods encouragingly.  “Take your time.”

The fingers of Connor’s free hand drum on the table as he tries to gather his thoughts.  “I guess… yesterday is just kind of getting to me,” he exhales. “I know I accuse you of not dealing with things, but I do the same thing.  I like to pretend I’m not sick, that I’m not on my way out. And most of the time, it works. But some days…” Hank squeezes Connor’s hand gently in understanding.  Was he not just thinking the same thing yesterday? “I know I try to act like everything’s okay,” Connor continues shakily, “but the truth is… I don’t want to die. I’m scared.  And I’m so angry. It’s not fair.”

Hank’s having a very hard time controlling his emotions, but he tries his best for Connor.  “For a while, I really thought I was okay with it. I just needed to find Elijah, and then I’d be done.  What else would have been left for me?” Hank knows that feeling all too well. “But now…” Connor’s watery gaze turns to Hank, and when their eyes meet his tears spill over, down his cheeks.  “I… I don’t want to leave you. The thought of it… of what will happen when I’m not here... it terrifies me.”

Connor’s incredibly intelligent, and Hank knows that the other man sees right through him.  Knows that Hank doesn’t really believe he can get better, and knows that he doesn’t plan to live much longer than Connor does.  Hank hates that he’s causing Connor this kind of turmoil, and vows to actually follow through with trying to get better, even if just to take some of the strain off Connor.

“Connor, hey…” Hank starts gently.  “You’ve got enough going on. Don’t worry about me.”

Connor snorts as if the idea is ludicrous.  It probably is. “It’s not even just that, though.  I’ve only just met you. There’s so much more I want to experience with you.  And we won’t have time.” Hank understands.  He’s felt the exact same way throughout the entirety of their relationship, as short as it may be.  He could picture himself spending the rest of his life with Connor. Growing old together…

Hank takes a deep breath, trying to remain calm.  “I know, baby. I know,” he says quietly. He doesn’t know what else to say.  There isn’t really anything he _could_ say that would make things better.  He settles for just sitting there, holding Connor’s hand while they both silently mourn the future they won’t get.

After a while, Connor takes a shuddering breath and looks at Hank apologetically.  “I’m sorry, I just don’t have it in me to say something positive like ‘we should just enjoy the time we have’ right now.”

Hank laughs humorlessly.  “It’s okay. You don’t always have to be the strong one, you know?  I hope you haven’t been… holding back on my account.”

Connor shakes his head.  “No, I promise.”

Hank squeezes his hand gently again.  “Okay, good. And I want you to continue talking to me if you need to, okay?  Don’t keep that shit inside. It’s not good.”

Connor gives him a wry look.  “Okay. Then you have to promise to do the same.”

Hank groans, but smiles slightly.  “Okay. Fair enough.”

Connor hums agreeably.  “Other than that. I’m having a hard time really figuring out how to go about finding Elijah.  I’ve been putting it off, just wanting to spend time with you, but yesterday reminded me that I don’t _have_ that much time to spare.”  Hank ignores the painful pang in his chest at Connor’s words.  “Maybe it was stupid of me to even think I could do this. Maybe I’ll never find him…”

“Hey,” Hank interrupts him.  “None of that. We’re _gonna_ find him.  I wasn’t made lieutenant for nothing, you know.  I’m pretty good at solving shit.”

This gets a real smile from Connor, the first one Hank’s seen all day.  He counts that as a win. He releases Connor’s hand and makes his way over to one of the kitchen drawers, one that Connor hasn’t gotten around to organizing yet.  His junk drawer, really. He rummages through it, finding a spare piece of paper and a pen. Sitting back down at the table, he draws a rectangle, dividing it into 9 different sections.  He presents it to Connor, pleased with his work.

“Er…” Connor starts, unsure.  “What… is this?”

Hank scoffs.  “A map of the building Con, come on!” he teases.  “There’s eight apartments here, two on each floor.  Plus the basement.”

Connor smiles in understanding.  “A map. Of course.”

Hank nods.  “Yeah, I might not be an artist, but it’ll work.”  He labels the different sections 1 through 8, along with the basement, and then Connor takes the paper from him, eager to start jotting down whatever notes he can.

“So, what do you know about the building?” he asks, tapping the pen against the table.

“Well,” Hank starts, tapping the block labeled ‘2’, “we can probably cross our apartment off the list.”  Connor nods, and writes ‘Hank & Connor’ in perfect script, drawing a heart around their names with a grin.  Hank rolls his eyes but can’t stop the warm feeling that blooms in his chest at Connor’s actions. “Fuckin’ adorable,” he mutters, trying and failing to sound annoyed.

“Okay, what else?” Connor prompts.

Hank scratches at his beard, thinking.  “There’s a married couple that lives across the hall from us.  The Edens. Nice girls. They’re both named Traci.”

Connor gives him a look.  “That can’t possibly be true.”

“Cross my heart,” Hank tells him.  “One spells it with an ‘I’ and one with a ‘Y’.  Blue hair and brown hair, respectively.”

Connor looks like he still doesn’t really believe him, but presses on.  “Okay, well, what do you know about them?”

Hank shrugs.  “The blue haired one, she seems nice enough.  Quiet. But…” he trails off.

“But what?” Connor urges.

“Well, I dunno.  I heard her yelling a couple of times before.  She almost sounds like a different person. It was fuckin’ weird.”

Connor thinks this over as he scribbles ‘The Edens’ into block number 1.  “What about the brown haired one?”

“Hmm.  Real polite.  Always says hello to me whenever I see her in the hall.  I think she might be sick, though, she’s really skinny.”

Connor tilts his head.  “Sick how? Like me?”

Hank shrugs again.  “I dunno. She’s just… not like she used to be.  I think they’re goin’ through some shit, they seem to fight a lot these days.”  

“That’s a shame,” says Connor, and Hank knows he actually feels sorry for them, for these women he hasn’t even met.  He’s blown away by how thoughtful his partner is. He tries to refocus on their mission.

“They used to have a dog,” Hank remembers.  “His name was Lucifer. Sumo always wanted to play with him, but he was such a tiny little thing.”  Connor perks up at the mention of another dog, and Hank has to let him down gently. “I haven’t seen him for a while though.  I’m not sure what happened to him.”

Connor frowns at this information.  “Damn. That was going to be my excuse to talk to them.  ‘Oh, you’re gay and like dogs? Me too!’ Friends for life.  Unless one of them killed my brother.”

Hank doesn’t really know how to reply to that.  “I’m sure you’ll think of something else…?” he offers uncertainly.

“I hope so,” Connor replies seriously.  “Okay,” he says, tapping the square above them.  “Who’s our upstairs neighbor?”

Hank’s good humor evaporates instantly.  “Dick Perkins. The guy who called Ortiz.”

The pen rips through the paper in box number 4 while Connor’s writing.  “ _That’s_ the man that almost got you killed?”  There actually wasn’t any ‘almost’ about it.  Hank doesn’t bother to correct him. He nods. Connor looks like he’s ready to leap out of his chair and storm up there right now, completely incensed.  Hank grabs his arm, calming him.

“Hey, settle down,” he tells Connor gently.

“But Hank-!”

“I know, baby, I know.  But we can worry about that later.  Right now, we gotta focus on figuring out if he’s our guy or not.”

Connor reluctantly sinks back into his chair, still looking angry.  “Well, he’s high up on my list of probable suspects right now,” he says, drawing a tiny dick beside Perkin’s name.  Hank snorts.

“I’m pretty sure the apartment across the hall from him is empty,” he tells Connor, trying to distract him.

“Yeah, because no one would stand to live on the same floor as that asshole, probably…” Connor mutters petulantly, writing ‘Empty?’ in box number 3.  Hank wants to kiss the frown off his face, but he resists.

“Well, there’s another asshole in apartment six, so get ready for that,” Hank says, and Connor waits for him to elaborate.  “His name is Gavin Reed, and he works with me. He’s fuckin’ miserable.”

“Hmmm…” Connor hums, sucking absently on the top of the pen.  Hank loses his train of thought, and Connor grins when he realizes what he’s doing, and, in turn, what it’s doing to Hank.  “Everything okay?” he asks innocently. Hank shoots him a dirty look.

“You’re the worst,” Hank tells him, and Connor laughs.  The sound makes Hank smile.

“Okay, what else can you tell me about this Gavin guy?” Connor asks, swinging his feet up into Hank’s lap.  Hank massages them gently in thought.

“He’s a detective, and he’s always trying to start fights.  No one at the precinct really wants to work with him. He’s got a bunch of cats, and he lets them roam all around the building.  They come to our yard sometimes, and he gets pissed when Sumo chases them. Like it’s my fault.”

Connor huffs out a quiet laugh through his nose, writing ‘Gavin’ in box six, and doodling a few little cat faces around his name.  “Okay, who lives across from him?”

“Hmm… I try to avoid going up there at any cost, but if I recall correctly, it’s a girl named Chloe.  She mostly keeps to herself, I think? But Reed is over there a lot, from what I can gather. I don’t really know how they know each other, but they seem close.  Maybe from just being neighbors for so many years? I don’t know.”

Connor scribbles ‘Chloe’ in box number five, and then looks expectantly at Hank.

“There’s a woman and a little girl that lives in number eight.  Her names Kara, I think. Her daughter’s name is Alice.”

Connor nods, writing that down.  “No father in the picture?”

Hank shakes his head.  “Not that I know of. She doesn’t like to talk about it, I get the idea it didn’t end well.  I help her carry her groceries upstairs sometimes.”

Connor grins.  “How considerate.”  Hank would tell him to fuck off if he didn’t know Connor actually meant it.

“And then there’s a couple that lives in number seven.  Simon and Markus. Markus is an artist, I think. Whenever I’ve been up there helping Kara, I always hear weird fuckin’ noises coming from their apartment.”

“Weird?” Connor asks, waiting for elaboration.  

“I don’t know, screaming, explosions, gunshots, that sorta shit.”

“Oh, those kinds of strange noises,” Connor says sarcastically.  “Not a real cause for concern, right?”

“Okay, smartass,” Hank starts, grinning.  “Probably just a video game, you know.”

Connor’s grinning too as he finishes their map.  “Probably. Still worth checking out, though.”

Hank agrees and Connor passes him the finished product for him to inspect.  Hank looks it over and nods. “Looks good, babe. Do you wanna start investigating today?”

Connor shakes his head.  “I’m still feeling kind of shitty.  Maybe tomorrow?”

Hank’s face softens.  “Yeah, of course,” he tells Connor.  “What did you wanna do today instead?”  He’s fully prepared for Connor to make some sort of suggestive comment, so he’s surprised when the other man looks nervously down at the table.

“Hank…” he trails off, seeming unsure of how to continue.

“Is something wrong, Con?” Hank asks, concerned.

Connor’s lips press together, and he gives Hank a furtive look.  “There is something I wanted to talk to you about. But I’m afraid you won’t want to discuss it.”

Hank frowns, pushing Connor’s feet off his lap, and the other man looks distraught for a second before Hank walks around the table and offers him his hand.  “Come on, let’s go get dressed and then into the living room. We should at least be comfortable if you’re gonna start grilling me.”

Connor gives him a nervous smile and takes his hand, letting Hank lead him from the kitchen.  The two of them go to their room and dress quickly before settling down and getting comfortable on the living room sofa.  Hank sits and pulls Connor right onto his lap, trying to show him he’s open to whatever Connor wants to talk about. The smaller man squirms around until he’s sitting sideways, so he can kiss Hank comfortably.  Hank’s not entirely surprised, Connor seems to have a hard time _not_ being physical when they’re this close.  

Hank slides a hand up his back, feeling Connor shiver happily, and then lightly grips the back of his neck.  Connor hums, and Hank squeezes gently while brushing his tongue against the seam of Connor’s lips. Said lips part eagerly, and Hank rests his free hand on Connor’s thigh as his tongue slips past Connor’s teeth.  Connor tastes like the sweet coffee he was drinking earlier, and he moans quietly when Hank’s tongue brushes the roof of his mouth.

Connor pulls back, breathing heavily, face already flushed.  Hank still can’t believe how easy it is to get a reaction from him.  He slides the hand on Connor’s thigh teasingly higher, making him whine.  “Hank…”

“What can I do for you, sweetheart?” Hank murmurs, nipping playfully at his earlobe, massaging his thigh gently.

“I want to blow you,” Connor says, in that incredibly blunt way of his.  Hank instantly stops all of his teasing and pulls back, looking Connor in the eye with a frown.

“Connor… no.”

Connor, who’d already been halfway out of his lap and headed toward the floor to get on his knees, freezes, shocked.  “Hank, why…?”

“You don’t have to… I don’t know, suck my dick to get me to talk to you.  That’s not how this works.”

Connor looks insulted.  “Hank, I’m not trying to manipulate you with sex!  I wouldn’t do that.”

Hank isn’t sure if he’s convinced, but the offended look on Connor’s face is starting to make him feel like he might have just screwed up big time.  Anxiety spikes in his stomach. “Shit, I didn’t mean…”

Connor can see Hank starting to panic, and his face softens.  Gently, he resituates himself on his lap and cups his jaw. “Hank, it’s okay.  I can understand why the timing might have been concerning to you.” Hank gives him a grateful look.

“I’m sorry, Connor, I wasn’t… I didn’t mean to make it sound like I thought you were manipulating me.  I just meant… I felt shitty cause I thought…” God, Hank hates talking about his feelings. He exhales through his nose, and Connor waits patiently.  “I thought you felt like you _owed it_ to me to make me talk to you.  And I was worried that I would be taking advantage of you.  I don't want you so afraid of asking me difficult shit that you feel like you gotta… mellow me out with sex first.”

Connor kisses him gently, soothing away his doubts.  “Hank, you are very considerate. And I want you to know that your fears are unfounded.”  Another soft kiss. “You are very good to me, I don’t feel like I _have_ to do anything.  Those thoughts never crossed my mind.”  Kiss. “Also, I would still want to blow you, even if you weren’t willing to talk.”

Hank snorts, then wraps his arms around Connor, hiding his face in his neck and sighing in relief.  “Thanks, Connor,” he mutters into his soft skin. “I’m sorry, I’m not good at this.”

“I think you’re doing a fine job,” Connor replies.  Hank smiles slightly.

“I’ve never been good at relationships, I always fuck up.  I don’t like talking about… feelings and shit. I get in my own head and convince myself that I’m doin’ something wrong.  But I don’t want it to be like that with you.” Connor hums, and Hank can just barely feel it from where his face is still pressed into the other man’s neck.

“Well, we talked through that pretty well.  Very maturely, I think.” That statement surprises Hank when he realizes it’s true.

“Huh,” he breathes, managing to look Connor in the eye again.  “Guess we did.” Nobody started hurling accusations, no one left in a huff, no one even got angry.  It’s the exact opposite of what Hank’s familiar with.

Connor nods.  “And now, I am going to ask you a question, and you only have to answer it if you feel comfortable.  And then, I am going to suck your dick. If that is acceptable.”

Hank nearly chokes, sputtering out a laugh.  “Yeah, okay. I think that would be pretty damn acceptable.”  He feels his arousal building despite his trepidation about what exactly Connor wants to ask him, and he’s certain the other man can feel his _interest_ pressing against his ass.

Connor takes a moment, choosing his words carefully.  “I was in the spare room the other day, looking for a shirt that I must have misplaced…”

He pauses, and Hank mutters, “you’ve been stealing enough of my shirts as it is, I think you can afford to lose one of your own.”

Connor swats at him playfully.  “You like when I wear your clothes.  Anyway. I was shifting some boxes around and… I found a crib.  Do you have kids, Hank? You never talk about them.”

Hank tenses, and it takes every ounce of strength he has not to completely shut down or start shouting.  This is it. This is what he’s been keeping from Connor. The biggest reason he’s become the fuck up that he is today.  Connor clearly takes the shift in his demeanor as a bad thing but jumps to a very wrong conclusion.

“It’s okay if you do!  I’m not… I don’t mind kids.  Do you have a bad relationship with your ex?  Will they be upset about… us?” Hank could almost laugh at how innocent Connor’s assumption is.  He doesn’t want to talk about this. But Connor deserves to know the truth, deserves to know how badly he’s fucked up.  Hank realizes he’s trembling, and that Connor is looking at him, eyes wide with concern. “Shit, Hank, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.  You don’t have to talk about it, forget I asked!”

Hank shakes his head, trying to calm down.  “Connor, I…” He’s really struggling to get the words out.  The only reason he even attempts to speak is his deep affection for the other man.  Connor presses a firm kiss to his cheek, unsure of what to do. Hank’s determined, though.  He’s put this off too long, it’s not fair to Connor. His partner told him _his_ most painful story, and he’s been holding this back.

With a deep sigh, Hank reluctantly begins to talk.  “Connor… it’s… I don’t want you to think badly of me once you hear it.  But I gotta be honest with you, don’t I?”

Connor shakes his head.  “Hank, you know I would never think poorly of you.  But you really don’t have to talk about it if it’s too difficult.”

Hank gives him a shaky smile.  “Sometimes I think you’re too good to be true,” he murmurs, tracing a finger over the other man’s cheek.  

Connor’s eyes flutter closed at the touch.  “Likewise,” he breathes.

Hank exhales.  “I… I had a son.”  Connor picks up on the use of the past tense right away, and his mouth turns downward in sympathy.

“Oh…” he says quietly.  Sadly. “What… happened?”

Before Hank can answer, they’re interrupted, yet again, by a knock at the door.  “Unbelievable,” Hank growls as Connor slides off his lap. “I’m starting to feel like someone’s fuckin’ with us…”  He takes a steadying breath and then heads toward the door, Connor following curiously behind him.

Hank opens the door, and the first thing he sees is a huge bouquet of flowers, his vision narrowing until he can focus on nothing else.  Roses… lilies... He stumbles back slightly and feels Connor’s gentle hands on his waist. “Hank, what’s the matter?” The smaller man sounds concerned, and Hank wishes he could speak to reassure him.

_What the fuck what the fuck_ Hank’s mind is screaming at him.  This can’t possibly be a coincidence, these flowers showing up just when he’s about to tell Connor about Cole.  Eventually, he realizes the flowers aren’t just hovering in midair and forces himself to focus on the person holding them.  Hank gasps, coming face to face with a person he hoped to never see again in his life.

“What the fuck,” Hank manages to bite out.  Connor grabs onto his arm, and the touch brings him back to the present.  “What the _fuck_ are you doing here?” he spits at the man on his doorstep, his hands curling into fists.  “I told you if you ever contacted me again, I’d kill you. I wasn’t fucking around.”

Connor’s hand wraps around Hank’s fist, and he tugs urgently.  “Hank, what’s wrong? Who is this?” Connor forces Hank to relax his hand, lacing their fingers together.  

Hank almost feels like he’s watching the scene unfold from outside his own body.  He hasn’t seen or heard anything from Michael Graham in over four years, and he hadn’t planned to change that.  The years have not been kind to him, and he looks like he hasn’t been taking care of himself at all. Although, Hank thinks hysterically, he can’t really say anything different about himself.  Michael’s short hair and beard are messy and uneven, and his brown eyes have a manic gleam in them that makes Hank incredibly uneasy.

Michael looks at their joined hands, anger flashing across his features.  “It’s been a long time, Hank,” he says, taking a step towards them menacingly.  

Hank steps protectively in front of Connor.  “Sweetheart, how about you go back to our room, okay?” he murmurs over his shoulder.  He doesn’t like the way Michael is looking at them, or that he seems to be concealing something behind his back.

“Hank, no-” starts Connor, before Michael interrupts him, throwing the bouquet on the floor and stomping on the flowers, destroying them.  Their sweet scent fills the air, almost overpowering.

“I gave you time, Hank,” Michael bites out angrily.  “More than enough time. And this is how you repay me?  How could you forget what we had?” He twists his boot on top of the flowers, grinding them into something unrecognizable.

Hank scrubs his free hand down his face, exasperated. “I can’t believe I’m havin’ to say this again,” Hank exhales, trying to stay calm.  Connor’s tugging on the back of his shirt, trying to get him further away from the unhinged man in front of them. “We don’t _have_ anything.  We _never_ did.”  Hank says each word loudly and clearly, trying to drive the statement home.  It never worked in the past, and he doesn’t have much hope for it working now, but he has to try.

It works about as well as Hank predicted, which is to say not at all.  Michael advances towards them, glaring threateningly at Connor over Hank’s shoulder.  From behind his back, he pulls a rusty hammer. Hank’s protective instincts go into overdrive and he shoves Connor back further, ready to fight.  “Fuck no. Get out of my house.”

“Hank!” Connor’s panicked voice calls out from behind him.  Hank gets into Michael’s space, physically blocking him.

Michael softens slightly when Hank grabs his arm and averts his attention from Connor.   _Good_ , Hank thinks.   _Keep him distracted.  Protect Connor._  The words run through his mind on repeat.  

“Come on, Hank,” Michael coaxes.  “Come with me and I’ll let him go unharmed.  He's not bad looking, I don't blame you for finding someone until I came back.”

Hank inhales, screaming inside but outwardly remaining calm.  “Yeah, sure. Let him go and I’ll do whatever you want, okay?”  He hears Connor’s sharp intake of breath from behind him but tries his best to ignore it.  He can take this guy. He just needs to make sure Connor is out of harm’s way, then he can find a way to get the upper hand.

Michael crowds into Hank’s space, cornering him against the wall, hammer hanging loose in his hand.  Connor makes an outraged sound and starts towards them, but Hank quickly meets his eye and gives the barest shake of his head.  Connor idles there, unsure what to do.

“I knew you’d come around, Hank.  Surely you must realize how much I love you,” Michael’s saying.  Hank’s trying to find an opening to take the other man down, but his next words make it all for naught.  “What happened four years ago was unfortunate, but, it was probably for the best.”

Hank freezes.  “What did you say?” he murmurs dangerously.  

“Well, I just mean-”

Hank shoves him away harshly, no longer thinking clearly.  “My kid fuckin’  _died_ , you psycho.  How can you say that’s for the best?”  Michael’s face twists into an angry frown, but Hank isn’t done.  “You know, I thought maybe you were just delusional. I almost felt bad for you.  But now… I realize you’re just a piece of shit. A fuckin’ parasite. You don’t even deserve-”  
  
Hank’s tirade is cut off by Michael’s hammer coming down hard on his head, caving in his skull.  He just barely registers Connor’s cry of distress as the smaller man flings himself down to the floor beside him.  Connor’s grabbing his hand, looking absolutely panicked, tears in his eyes. “Hank, no, oh my god…” His other hand hovers above Hank, not sure where he can touch, afraid of making it worse.  But there’s nothing he can do. Hank’s fading, and he knows he’s close to death. Panic surges in his chest at the thought of leaving Connor unprotected, and he tries in vain to push himself to his feet, but it’s too late.  He can barely even move. All he manages is a weak squeeze to Connor’s hand. _Hold on_ , he thinks, wishing Connor could hear him.   _I’ll be back soon._  Then, darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i originally had todd in this role instead of michael, but that never rly felt Right to me and also i might wanna use him in future stories in this universe for some ~drama~ w kara's story lol. also this parasite is a fuckin mystery and never rly explained and none of the theories make total sense so i just. did my own thing. whatever.


	32. Interlude V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> previously: _Hank’s tirade is cut off by Michael’s hammer coming down hard on his head, caving in his skull. He just barely registers Connor’s cry of distress as the smaller man flings himself down to the floor beside him. Connor’s grabbing his hand, looking absolutely panicked, tears in his eyes. “Hank, no, oh my god…” His other hand hovers above Hank, not sure where he can touch, afraid of making it worse. But there’s nothing he can do. Hank’s fading, and he knows he’s close to death. Panic surges in his chest at the thought of leaving Connor unprotected, and he tries in vain to push himself to his feet, but it’s too late. He can barely even move. All he manages is a weak squeeze to Connor’s hand. Hold on, he thinks, wishing Connor could hear him. I’ll be back soon. Then, darkness._

Hank’s lying face down on a cold, dirty floor, the caws of a crow pulling him back towards consciousness.  With a groan, he forces himself onto all fours, and then to his feet. A single glance at his surroundings is enough to confirm his suspicions that _yep, I fuckin’ died again,_ and as the circumstances leading up to his death come flooding back his annoyance shifts into panic.

“Fuck, Connor…” he needs to get back home.  He doesn’t want to think about what Michael will do to his partner while he himself is dead.  He pauses to gather his thoughts. He needs to get back to Connor as soon as possible, and it won’t do him any good to sink into a panic.  Looking around, he examines his current location with a keener eye.

He’s not quite sure… where he’s ended up this time.  It seems kind of industrial, rusted barrels and old metal doors being the main things he can spot.  A door to his left and an open doorway in front of him are his options for escape.  An oar leans against the wall beside the doorway. He decides to check out what’s through there first.  It looks like it leads outside. Cautiously, he makes his way forward.

He was right about one thing and the doorway takes him outside.  He’s standing on a pier now, overlooking the water. An old, abandoned boat sits beside him next to a pile of rusted metal.  Gazing out into the distance, he sees a large ship floating silently.  Eerily. It’s hard to tell from where he is, but he’s pretty sure it’s completely abandoned.  The stillness of the afterlife never fails to unnerve him, and he quickly continues his way down the pier.

His progress is abruptly halted as the pier ends, an old looking elevator the only thing left to examine.  Curiously, it seems that the elevator only goes down. _An elevator to the bottom of the sea?_ Hank thinks, spotting a sign that explains its operation.  Most of it flies right over his head, too many technical terms, but one thing stands out to him.  “Minimum passenger handling capacity: two,” he reads out loud. “Fuckin’ useless.” With a growl, he turns and makes his way back to where he started.  He’s getting really tired of all this backtracking he ends up doing whenever he’s… here.

Back in the room where he first awoke, he tries the metal door to his left instead.  The door shrieks open on rusty hinges and Hank flinches as it breaks the haunting silence.  The room he enters is dimly lit, and he hears a strange, mechanical clicking coming from up ahead.  The sound sends a chill up his spine, but he presses forward. He’s surprised when he reaches the end of the room and finds it empty, but then he looks to his left and is barely able to contain a shocked noise.  

The entire wall is a large mirror, and reflected in the mirror is some kind of… monster.  It’s got six long, spindly arms made of metal that ends in points, which are constantly moving, the source of the clicking noise.  Its face is covered in blood, it’s eye sockets empty and dark, and yet… it feels familiar to Hank. It looks… like him. He whirls around, looking behind him, thinking he surely must have overlooked the thing when he first entered the room, but no.  There’s nothing. He’s alone in the room. And yet as he looks back into the mirror he cannot deny what he’s seeing.

He approaches the mirror, and only when he gets close enough to touch it does he realize his own reflection is nowhere to be seen.  As his hand meets the glass, his reflection suddenly materializes, but it’s all wrong. It’s him… but it’s not. He’s back in his hospital gown, his face sunken, dark circles under his unfocused eyes.  Reflection-Hank sways slightly in place, looking disoriented, and Hank hardly recognizes him. And yet he knows that this _was_ him not that long ago.  This Hank had given up on life and thought he didn’t have anything worth sticking around for.

Seeing the drastic difference between his reflection and how he perceives himself now is a shock, and he finds it hard to stop staring.  He’s changed so much in such a short time, and that thought brings him back to Connor, which snaps him out of his daze and makes him forcefully remove his hand from the glass.  He turns and walks purposefully back towards the door, and mirror Hank stumbles along across the glass beside him. Hank ignores him.

Instead of exiting the room, however, Hank’s suddenly back in his apartment.  His heart skips a beat and he calls out Connor’s name, but as he hurries forward he realizes something is very wrong.

The lights dim as he continues further into the living room, and it’s not the living room he most recently died in.  Furniture is knocked over and broken, books and records scattered over the floor. The walls, however, are easily the most disturbing thing.  Embedded within them are hundreds upon hundreds of skulls, grinning blankly at him.  Hank shudders and folds his arms around himself, doing his best not to touch any of them.  Where the door to his and Connor’s bedroom should be stands an entire pile of skulls instead, floor to ceiling.

Hank tries the door to the spare room but finds it locked.  Not too upset about being out of options, he quickly heads back the way he came.  His way out is gone, though, replaced with another wall of skulls. Panicking, he turns back, and the walls start closing in on him.  “Shit!” he mutters, looking around, trying to find help. Something catches his eye behind an overturned table, and he hurries forward to investigate.  His hand closes around the barrel of his police-issued gun, and he stares at it, blinking dumbly for a moment.

“The fuck am I gonna do with this shit?” he asks out loud, frustrated.  For a second he considers putting it to his head, thinking about how that solved his problem at Ortiz’s place.  But no, he’s already dead. He doesn’t see that being helpful. Looking around frantically, he spots the door to the spare room and hurries towards it.  The walls are moving steadily closer, and his access is about to be cut off. Without hesitating he shoots the door handle, covering his face as shattered pieces fly towards him.  The door swings open, and he leaps inside just as the walls pass by the doorway.

Hunched over and panting slightly, he takes a minute to catch his breath.   _I’m fuckin’ dead, why do I even have to breathe?_ Looking around, he’s not too surprised to find he’s not in the spare room of his house.  He’s in the candle hall, back at Amanda’s cabin. Of course. He knows the deal by now. He hurries forward, closes his eyes, and blows out a candle.

* * *

  
Far away, a driver loses control of their vehicle and swerves into a field.  The car rolls several times. When it finally comes to a stop, it’s sole occupant is dead.

* * *

When Hank opens his eyes, he’s back in the macabre imitation of his apartment, the front door now accessible.  Without delay, he leaves, and finds himself back in the small room where he first woke up, the first vague threads of an idea starting to come together.  He thinks back to the elevator, the only other way he can see out of this place. _Minimum capacity… two..._  He reenters the monster’s room, where he finds it still clicking its many arms like mad. Mirror Hank stands beside it unsteadily.  When Hank locks eyes with his reflection, it’s head tilts slightly towards the monster, and Hank knows he’s onto something.

He aims the gun he’s still holding at the glass, right at the monster’s head.  Taking a few steps back, he fires, and the mirror explodes into thousands of glittering shards.  Hank hides his face, but none of them seem to touch him.

When he lowers his arms, the mirror and the monster are both gone, but his reflection remains.  It’s transparent, almost like a ghost, but it’s still there, even without the glass as a medium.  He tucks the gun into the back of his jeans and looks at his reflection with trepidation. “Will you… come with me?” Hank asks it uncertainly.  It’s head inclines once, and that’s good enough for Hank. He leaves the room, glancing back to make sure his reflection is following him. Slowly and unsteadily, it does.

The two of them make their way out onto the pier, with Hank having to stop repeatedly for his reflection to keep up.  It reminds him of how he felt when he found the spider’s heart in the hospital. Finally, he makes it to the elevator and waits impatiently for the other to enter.  As soon as it does, he slams his hand on the activation button. The two of them stare at each other a moment as nothing happens, but then the elevator jolts to life and the doors slide shut.  They slowly begin their journey down to the bottom of the ocean.  
  
There’s a small porthole that Hank stares out as they descend into the dark water.  A body floats by, bloated, dead eyes staring vacantly into Hank’s, and he leaps back, startled.  His heart is beating wildly and he decides he’s not going to look out there anymore. The elevator descends lower and lower.  Hank’s just starting to wonder if it’s ever going to stop when suddenly the walls crumple inward. _Shit_ , he thinks.   _We must be going too deep._ The overwhelming pressure of the water brings him to his knees.  The walls continue to bend, and his reflection just stands there, staring down at him, swaying.  Hank gasps for one last breath, and then slowly loses consciousness.


	33. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> previously: _There’s a small porthole that Hank stares out as they descend into the dark water. A body floats by, bloated, dead eyes staring vacantly into Hank’s, and he leaps back, startled. His heart is beating wildly and he decides he’s not going to look out there anymore. The elevator descends lower and lower. Hank’s just starting to wonder if it’s ever going to stop when suddenly the walls crumple inward. Shit, he thinks. We must be going too deep. The overwhelming pressure of the water brings him to his knees. The walls continue to bend, and his reflection just stands there, staring down at him, swaying. Hank gasps for one last breath, and then slowly loses consciousness._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some tragic backstory~

And then suddenly, he’s awake.  Alive. He goes rigid and sucks in a large gulp of air, then hears Connor’s startled cry behind him.  He tries to move, to get to Connor, but finds he can’t. He thrashes wildly for a moment before admitting defeat.

“Hank!  Hank!” Connor’s repeating his name, and the other man’s voice finally breaks through to him.  He takes another deep breath, this time to calm himself, and assesses the situation. He’s definitely back in his own apartment, he recognizes the run-down bathroom immediately.  He’s in the bathtub, and Connor is behind him.  They’re bound together with…

“Is this fuckin’ duct tape?” he asks incredulously.  He tries to move but finds his entire body is bound tight.  Connor is in a similar position. “What the fuck, do I own this much duct tape?  Did he bring it with him?”

“Hank!” Connor’s hysterical voice interrupts his disoriented rambling, and Hank shuts up instantly, remembering the situation they’ve found themselves in.  He tries to shift so he can look at Connor, to really see for himself that the other man is okay, but he can’t. He has to settle for tilting his head back, letting it rest against Connor’s shoulder awkwardly.

“Are you okay, baby?” he asks, desperate for confirmation.

Connor lets out a teary laugh and tilts his head sideways so it can just barely rest against Hank’s.  “Am _I_ okay?” Connor repeats.  “ You _died_ , Hank, I saw him cave your skull in.  You were _dead_. I know it. I should be asking _you_ that!”

Hank exhales.  “I’m immortal, remember?  I’m fuckin’ great.” He knows Connor didn’t believe it, though.  He’ll address that later. “Did he hurt you?” he asks, voice low and dangerous.  He feels Connor shake his head.

“No.  After he killed you he started freaking out, said it was my fault.  He had a knife and I was just… I couldn’t believe what happened. I think I was in shock.  He told me to come in here and I just… went along with it?” Hank can feel Connor’s body trembling behind him.  “Then he dragged your body in here and kinda dumped you in the tub and made me get in with you. I wasn’t thinking clearly, but I don’t think he was either.  So I listened to him, and he taped us together. He said he’ll be back later to… deal with me.”

Hank wants nothing more than to take Connor into his arms and comfort him, and then maybe beat the shit out of Michael.  Connor’s voice sounds thick, and the reality of what he’s been through since Hank died comes crashing down. “How long was I gone this time?” Hank asks him, afraid of the answer.

“This time…” Connor gasps out hysterically.  “I don’t know, really, it felt like forever.  In reality, I imagine it was about… half an hour?”  Hank wants to sob, thinking about Connor, sitting here in the bathtub, taped to the corpse of his lover, not really believing he would reawaken.

“Connor…” he says shakily.  “I’m so sorry. I should have gotten back to you sooner.”

He feels Connor shake his head vehemently.  “Hank, no… You’re… you’re here now, and I thought I’d lost you forever.  I still can’t believe…”

Hank blinks, his face feeling stiff from the blood dried on it, and he knows it’s probably matted in his hair _yet again._  “I know, Con,” he says quietly.  “I thought the whole thing was a dream, right up until the first time I got killed and came back.”

“It’s impossible…” Connor mutters.  “And yet. I saw it. With my own eyes.  I sat here with you. I knew you weren’t breathing, that your heart wasn’t beating.  It was much too long for it to just be a fluke.” Connor’s quiet for a moment before continuing.  “I just… I can’t…”

Hank quickly cuts him off.  “Shh. It’s okay, don’t think about it right now.  You’ll have plenty of time to question everything you thought you knew when we get out of here.”

Connor’s lips touch his cheek gently, a soft kiss on top of his dried blood.  “How _are_ we going to get out of here, Hank?” he whispers.  Hank tries to think of a plan.

“Is that bastard still here, or did he leave?” Hank asks.

“... I think he left, he said he had to get some things ready.  I think he’s going to kill me.”

Hank growls.  “I’m _not_ going to let that happen,” he tells Connor with conviction.  “He thinks I’m dead. We’ll use that to our advantage.”

Connor’s breathing deeply, trying to calm down.  “Yes, okay,” he says quietly. A brief moment of silence, then, “Who is he, Hank?”

Hank sighs.  “It’s a long story, Connor.  But, I guess we got time.”

“... is he an ex?  He seemed very angry to see us together.”

“Fuck no!” Hank denies immediately.  “He wishes. And that’s where the problem started.”

Connor’s quiet, letting Hank tell his story, and Hank’s suddenly almost grateful that he can’t look Connor in the eye for this.  He feels less real, more detached, this way.

“I had a son.  His name was Cole.  But he’s dead now, and it’s my fault.”

“I’m certain that’s not true, Hank!” Connor sounds so sure, and Hank chuckles darkly.

“You’ll change your mind once you hear what happened.”  Connor makes a noise like he wants to argue more, but falls silent.  Hank takes that as his cue to continue. “Me and Cole’s mom, Erica, we didn’t plan on havin’ a kid.  I don’t think we even liked each other that much, really. We weren’t serious about each other, at any rate.  But… she got pregnant, and we thought we’d try to do the “right thing”, try to settle down. We were both older, and we thought this was probably our last chance at a normal family thing anyway.  So, we got married.” He closes his eyes and feels Connor nuzzle his face against his cheek as best he can with their limited mobility.

“Go on,” his partner urges gently.

Hank breathes out a sigh.  “Right from the start, I knew that it wasn’t a good idea.  We moved in here, and we were always fighting, always snapping at each other for completely trivial shit.  I started working more, just to be out of the house and away from her. We got Sumo, and he was an okay distraction for a while, but still.  I think we both resented each other. We both felt trapped by this baby that we didn’t even plan. I feel terrible for saying that now, how could I ever think that about my son?  But, it’s the truth.” Hank hangs his head guiltily, but Connor, bless him, tries to pick up his broken spirits.

“Hank, you can’t feel bad about that.  At the time, you weren’t thinking about _your son_ that way, you were thinking of the _concept_ of having a child with someone you didn’t want to be with.  Those are two completely different things.”

Hank smiles sadly.  “You’re sweet, Con. But that distinction doesn’t really even matter anymore.  Once Cole was born, I forgot all about not wanting to be with Erica and not wanting a kid.  All I cared about was _him._  He was so perfect, I couldn’t believe… I was just so proud, to be his dad.  That kind of love… there’s nothing quite like it.”

Connor hums, not in agreement since he has nothing to compare it to, but in understanding.  “I bet you were a great father,” he tells Hank. Hank snorts.

“I tried to be.  God knows I still fucked up more times than I can count, though.  But even though I was embracing being a parent, Erica was withdrawing.  She didn’t want anything to do with Cole. I don’t doubt that she loved him, and she was probably goin’ through some shit, postpartum or whatever, but she just didn’t want to be around him.  And that didn’t really bother me, cause I couldn’t get enough of it. She went back to work shortly after he was born, and I took some time off from the force to stay at home with him.”

Connor shifts slightly behind him and then makes a distressed noise.  Hank pauses. “Are you okay?”

“...Yes,” Connor answers, sounding embarrassed.  “I just want to hold you, but I can’t.”

Hank exhales slowly.   _Unreal._  He continues with his story before Connor can absolutely destroy him with how fuckin’ cute he is.  “Anyway, it was fuckin’ great. I’d wake up and I’d just have the whole day to spend with my kid. I’d take him and Sumo on walks a lot.  There used to be a dog park around here. Sumo could let off steam, and I could still focus on Cole. That’s where I first ran into Michael.”

Connor stiffens behind him.  Hank’s heart starts to beat faster as his anxiety grows.  “At first, I thought he was just, you know, some lonely guy who hung around the park.  He’d always be tryin’ to talk to me when I was there, would ask about Cole, that sorta thing.  Thought he seemed… friendly enough? But then he started popping up at other places I’d go. Like, too much for it to be a coincidence.  And then the flowers started showing up. Every Friday, when Erica was usually working late. She drove people around, you know, like Uber, and Friday was a really busy day for her.  It was as if he knew. And every time, I’d take ‘em to the dumpster out back and get rid of them. I didn’t tell anyone about it. I didn’t want to start a fight with Erica, cause I knew she’d blame me for it.  And I thought, you know, I’m a cop, I can handle a fuckin’ stalker by myself. I tried to find out what I could about him, you know, see if he had a criminal record or anything. Turns out he’d been picked up at one point for beating up a couple of sex workers, but the charges were dropped.  Knowing he was… violent scared me. And yet I still didn’t do anything about it. ”

Hank forces himself to say the next part.  “Sometimes, I think, maybe I _liked_ the attention.  He was younger than me, it was… kinda flattering.  At first. Why else didn’t I try harder to get him to quit?  Why did it make me feel so guilty? I’d been with someone who didn’t actually care about me for so long…”

“No.” Connor interrupts.  “This is not on you. You cannot control how others act.  From the sound of it, you made it very clear that his advances were unwelcome.  He should have backed off right away.”

Hank’s told himself the same thing hundreds of times, but somehow, hearing it from Connor lifts a weight from his shoulders he didn’t even realize was there.  He relaxes minutely against his partner and feels Connor’s lips brush his cheek again. “What happened next?”

“He started calling, after that.  I don't even know how the fuck he got my number.  But he wouldn’t stop until I answered. Every time, he’d try to convince me to leave Erica, and every time I’d tell him to fuck off.  But it didn’t work. It was all really fucking with my head. I probably didn’t take as good of care of Cole as I should have during that time.

One day, the biggest bouquet yet showed up at the door.  It was… exactly like that one he brought tonight.  I’d just put Cole down for a nap. Michael called me less than a minute after they were delivered.  I was fed up, I wanted to let him know how this shit was affecting me, and we stayed on the phone longer than we normally did, fighting.  Well, I was fighting. He was acting like it was a normal fuckin’ conversation. I guess I didn’t realize how late it was getting, because next thing I knew I heard Erica’s keys in the lock.  I hadn’t taken the flowers out to the dumpster, and I had no way to get rid of them. I’d been keeping this from her, and I wasn’t prepared to explain to her what was going on, and that I _had_ been hiding it in the first place.  So… I hid them in Cole’s room. Hoping I’d have time to get rid of them later.  She never really went in there, and if she did, I figured I’d just tell her Jeff and his wife sent them over or something.  It seemed harmless enough…”

Hank goes quiet for a long time, staring at nothing and reliving those awful memories.  

“Hank, darling?” Connor’s gentle voice snaps him out of it, and the endearment makes him want to cry.  He doesn’t deserve Connor’s sympathy. Determined to show him that, he plows ahead.

“Turns out, Erica got into an accident and tried to call me to pick her up.  But, I’d been on the phone with Michael and she couldn’t get through. And she was _pissed_.  We ended up having one of our worst fights ever, we both said some really nasty shit.  It was all so uncalled for.

It’d started to storm, and the wind really picked up.  The window in Cole’s room never shut right, you saw that.  It’s still fucked up. And I’d put the flowers on the table by Cole’s crib.  I thought he’d like to look at them when he woke up, you know? The colors? Anyway.”  Hank exhales a deep, shuddering sigh. “Turns out Cole had some rare allergy to pollen.  There was no way we coulda known. He was probably in there, coughing and choking, and we were too caught up in our stupid fuckin’ argument to even notice.  The next time I saw him… when I found him… he was…”

Connor’s gently bumps his forehead against the back of Hank’s head.  “You don’t have to say it,” he tells him quietly. Hank’s not sure when he started crying, but he can feel the tears running down his face now, streaking through the dried blood.

Weakly, he continues.  “Erica left that night and never came back.  They found her a week later, dead in the woods.  She drank herself to death. And then I had nothing.  No purpose. I was so jealous of her, so angry at myself for not having the guts to do what she did.  I wanted to die… but I was afraid. And that’s why we met the way we did. I’d gotten sick of playing Russian Roulette every night, unsure of what outcome I was really hoping for.  But I was still a coward. I had to take all those pills and get totally fuckin’ wasted. And even then it didn’t work.”

Hank’s quiet, waiting for the inevitable, waiting for Connor to tell him he’s to blame and that he never wants to see him again.  But that’s not what happens at all.

Connor’s face nuzzles into his neck, and he feels wetness there.  He realizes the other man is crying, too. “Oh, Hank…” Connor whispers, voice full of… sympathy?  That can’t be right. “I am so sorry you had to go through this. I’m so sorry you’ve been alone all these years, blaming yourself.”

“Connor…” Hank says, voice tight.  “I _should_ blame myself, it _is_ my fault.”

“No!” Connor says, pulling his face away from Hank’s neck, sitting as straight as he can in their current position.  “I want you to listen to me, Hank, and if you believe nothing else that I’ve told you over the span of our relationship, you must believe this.   _None of this is your fault_.”

“But-”

“No,” Connor interrupts him, voice firm.  “You said it yourself. You couldn’t have known Cole had that allergy.  You didn’t ask for those flowers, and you were just trying to save a failing marriage by not telling Erica about it.  No one is to blame. It was a horrible accident. But it is _not_ your fault.  And I know you probably don’t believe me, but I will tell you that every day for the rest of my life if I have to.  I need you to understand.”

Hank doesn’t have a reply to that.  He stares straight ahead, absorbing Connor’s words.  How many times did he tell himself the exact same thing?  He’s heard it countless times from acquaintances, but it always seemed like empty words.  The way Connor says it, the conviction he has, his utter faith in Hank, it’s… something he wasn’t prepared for.  He can almost _feel_ the icy guilt around his heart starting to thaw.  Just a little.

“Connor…”

He feels Connor’s lips press against the back of his neck, and he exhales a shuddering sigh.  He desperately wants to look him in the eye, wants to tell him how much his words mean to him.  

“Hank…” Connor murmurs, in between kissing every inch of Hank’s neck that he can reach.  “Is this what you’ve been worrying about all this time? Were you really so scared of what I would think?”

“Of course, Connor,” Hank answers weakly.  “My kid died because of my mistake-” he cuts off with a yelp as Connor sinks his teeth into his neck, just hard enough to sting.

“It’s not your fault,” he reminds Hank sternly.  Hank huffs out an incredulous laugh.

“Are you going to _bite me_ if I don’t agree with you?”

Connor mouths gently at the spot he just bit, soothing it with his tongue.  “Maybe.” Hank’s eyes flutter closed.

“That’s not exactly a deterrent.”

Connor hums.  “Maybe a reward, then, for positive thinking.”

Hank’s about to reply when they hear the front door open.  Both of them freeze, and Hank can feel Connor’s heart rate pick up against his back.  In the back of his mind, he briefly wonders why Sumo isn’t going crazy, but Connor’s hissing, “play dead,” in his ear and he has to focus on going limp and looking like a convincing corpse.

Footsteps pass by the bathroom door and continue down the hall, towards their bedroom.  “What do you think he’s doing?” Connor whispers.

“Probably nothing good,” Hank replies, just as quiet.  He can tell Connor’s getting nervous, and the feeling is mutual.  He promised to protect Connor, but in the back of his mind, he’s afraid he won’t be able to.  Before he can start second-guessing himself, the bathroom door bangs open and he can’t do anything more.

“Come on,” Michael growls, and Hank tenses as the tape around them is cut away with a knife.  

_Good_ , he thinks.  Connor struggles more than necessary while he’s being cut free, which disguises any movements Hank might make.  Michael drags Connor from the tub, and it takes every ounce of self-control Hank possesses not to leap out after them.  As soon as they exit the room, he tears the remaining tape off his own body and clambers out. With a start, he realizes his gun is still tucked into the back waistband of his jeans.  Apparently, it came back with him from the afterlife. He grabs it and doesn’t waste any more time in following the other men.

When he gets into the hall, he sees Michael dragging Connor at knifepoint towards their bedroom.  “Hey!” he shouts. “Get your fuckin’ hands off of him.”

Michael turns around, startled, nearly nicking Connor with the knife.  The smaller man flinches, and Michael’s eyes grow wide. “Hank?” he says, in disbelief.  “You’re okay?”

Hank’s got the gun aimed at him and his lip pulls up in a snarl.  “No thanks to you. Now let him go. I’m not gonna tell you again.”  Michael uses Connor as a shield, giving Hank an unhinged grin.

“No.  He’s coming with me, I’m gonna take care of him.  He’s turned you against me. If you try anything, I’ll cut his throat.”  The knife in his hand presses against Connor’s neck and the other man stops moving.  “But hey, I’ll give you a turn with him before I kill him if you don’t interfere.” Hank sees red.   _People should really stop trying to use Connor as leverage against me,_ he thinks.  Michael locks eyes with Hank, and Hank’s mind races, trying to figure out a way to get Connor out of harm’s way.

A movement behind the two men catches his attention, and he’s shocked to see Sumo creep out of the spare room and move silently towards them.  The large dog gets right behind Michael, for once looking threatening, and then lets out a loud bark, startling him for just a moment, and he lets his guard down just enough for Connor to spring into action.  

Hank watches in awe as his boyfriend flawlessly disarms Michael in one fluid motion before spinning out of his grasp and landing a solid punch to his face.  Michael goes down hard and Connor kicks him harder before throwing the knife out of reach and then throwing himself into Hank’s arms.

Hank is still trying to process what he just saw but his arms wrap around Connor on pure instinct.  He quickly switches on the safety of his gun, while Connor’s hands run all over his face and through his hair, needing confirmation that he really is okay.  “God, Hank…” he breathes, and Hank’s unable to stop himself from pulling him into a deep kiss. It’s more frantic than what he’s used to with Connor, and he knows now really isn’t the time, but he can’t stop.  He’s still covered in his own blood, but Connor doesn’t seem deterred at all if the enthusiastic swipes of his tongue are anything to go by. He’s tempted to press Connor against the wall and have his way with him, but a low groan from Michael pulls them back to reality.

They break their kiss sloppily and turn to look at the man lying on the ground.  “What should we do?” Connor asks quietly. Hank exhales slowly.

“I’ll take care of it,” he tells Connor gently.  “Go outside with Sumo, this won’t take long.”

Connor shakes his head.  “No. We’re doing this together.”

“Baby, I appreciate it, but you don’t need to see this.  This is something I’ve gotta do, and it ain’t pretty.”

Connor gives him a steely look.  “I saw him kill you. Compared to that, this will be nothing.”  Hank thinks that’s probably pretty fucked up, but he can’t help the warm feeling that blooms in his chest regardless.  

“Fuck…” he breathes, free hand reaching up to stroke Connor’s cheek.  Connor closes his eyes and leans into the touch, and while they’re wrapped up in each other Michael makes one last-ditch effort, lurching towards them on all fours, reaching for Hank’s gun.  Hank doesn’t even think twice as he quickly switches the safety off and shoots him right between the eyes.

They both stand in silence, holding each other, staring at the dead man on the floor.  Suddenly, what he just did catches up with him. “Oops,” says Hank weakly. He lets the gun fall from his hand and it clatters to the ground. Gently, he cradles Connor’s head, pushing it against his chest.  “Don’t look, baby…” he murmurs.

Connor lets out a shuddering breath and holds onto Hank tighter.  “This is going to be so hard to clean up…” he grumbles, and Hank can’t help but choke out a laugh.  

_3 down, 1 to go._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaa a nice, romantic murder~~~


	34. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> previously: _Connor lets out a shuddering breath and holds onto Hank tighter. “This is going to be so hard to clean up…” he grumbles, and Hank can’t help but choke out a laugh._
> 
> _3 down, 1 to go._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for a fair amt nsfw!!! waggles eyebrows dont look at me

They stand there, unmoving, for a few moments more.  Hank’s not even sure where to start with… this mess. The other times he just left the body behind and didn’t think about it, but that isn’t exactly an option in this case.  “Jesus…” he groans, and Connor lifts his head from his chest.

“Why don’t you let me take care of it, Hank?” he asks.

“Um, no?” Hank sputters.  “This is my mess, just… let me think.”

“It would make more sense, really.  I’ve been disposing of your bloody clothes since I moved in.  I’m very thorough, and better at cleaning than you. Also, the less involved you are, the less likely you are to leave evidence behind.  And what have I got to lose? If it’s… ever discovered, you can just blame me and-”

Hank claps a hand over Connor’s mouth, silencing him.  “Quit tryin’ to look at this logically. There isn’t anything logical about it.  We just… gotta deal with it.”

Connor furrows his brows but eventually nods in acceptance.  Hank removes his hand from his mouth, and Connor wastes no time before kissing him again.   _God, we’re disgusting…_ Hank thinks as Connor licks into his mouth, his hands gripping Hank’s chest.  Connor’s slides a hand up Hank’s chest, resting it against his steadily beating heart.  There’s a faint, metallic taste to their kiss, and Hank knows it’s his own blood, and yet neither of them stop.  His hands slide down to Connor’s hips, pulling him closer…

They reluctantly break apart to breathe.  Connor’s pupils are blown wide, and Hank once again relishes the fact that Connor is _so_ responsive...  “I want…” Connor murmurs, hand reaching for Hank’s belt.  He feels the blood rushing to his dick and he knows he has to put a stop to this before things get too weird.

“Not right now,” he tells Connor gently, lacing their fingers together and redirecting his wandering hand.  “Dead guy a couple feet away from us, remember?”

By the looks of it, Connor genuinely _didn’t_ remember.  He flushes guiltily as the two of them slowly separate.  “So… what should we do?”

Hank crosses his arms, contemplating.  “We should probably wrap him up in something, that’ll make it easier to move him and contain the mess.”  Hank never thought he’d have to use his knowledge of forensics to _cover up_ a murder instead of solving one, but in the scope of things, this is actually one of the less weird things he’s had to deal with lately.

Connor nods.  “Do we have a spare sheet or something?”

“Uh, yeah, probably,” Hank tells him, and the two of them make their way to their bedroom, stepping carefully around the body, intent on not trailing blood all through the house.  Upon entering their room, though, they find they don’t need to search for a spare sheet. Turns out what Michael had been ‘getting ready’ was a large, plastic tarp, draped over their bed.  Hank feels sick.

“Why would he…?” Connor asks, before trailing off.

“Easier cleanup,” Hank bites out, almost wishing Michael was still alive just so he could kill him again.

“If he was worried about making a mess, he could have just killed me in the tub,” Connor counters.  Hank grimaces.

“I don’t think that’s… all he had in mind, Con,” Hank tells him delicately.  For someone so smart, Connor sometimes misses the obvious. Hank hopes he won’t have to explain further.   _I’ll give you a turn with him before I kill him if you don’t interfere._ The taunt rings through his head, and he fights down the nausea rising in his stomach.

Connor takes a moment to process this, and Hank can tell the exact second everything connects in his head.  “Oh,” he says quietly.

“I would never have let that happen,” Hank tells him quickly, pulling him into his arms.  Connor nods absently, still staring at their bed. “Are you okay?” _Stupid question_ , he immediately berates himself, wincing.   _He was_ this _close to getting raped and murdered, of course he's not okay.  “_ Shit, sorry, that was dumb.”

Connor looks up at Hank.  “It’s okay. I know nothing bad would have happened as long as we were together.”  It sounds corny as fuck, but Hank melts and presses a kiss to Connor’s forehead.

“I hope you’re right about that.”  And really, Connor hadn't needed Hank to protect him, he got out of that mess perfectly fine on his own.  Another thought pops into Hank’s head. “Hey, Connor?” The other hums in response. “Where the fuck did you learn to fight like that?”

Connor actually laughs at the question and gives Hank a small smile.  “Niles. I told you he was overly protective. He made me take so many self-defense classes and taught me a bunch of other shit, too.  He was into all of that. Different fighting styles, you know?”

Hank sends a silent thank you to Niles, wherever he may be, so grateful that Connor was able to protect himself.  And... “Well, it was fuckin’ hot.”

Connor grins.  “I bet I could disarm you, too, lieutenant,” he tells him lowly, suggestively.  Heat pools in Hank's stomach at the thought.

“Jesus…” he groans.  “Don’t you ever quit?”  Connor laughs.

“I think you know the answer to that by now, Hank.”  

“Too true…”  Slowly, he untangles himself from Connor and walks over to their bed.  He takes the tarp in his hands and gives it a tug. It slides off the bed easily.  “At least we can use this to help us clean up.” Connor nods, and the two of them make their way back out of their bedroom, ready to get to work.

However, Hank stops dead when he enters the living room.  Connor, not paying attention, runs into his back and lets out a surprised squeak.  “Hank, what?” he says, peering around him. “Oh.”

Michael’s body is nowhere to be seen.  Nothing is out of place, and there is no sign of the blood that stained the floor and the walls.  Sumo is curled up in almost the exact spot where the body fell, looking at them curiously. “Uhh…” Hank utters, looking around the room, making sure they aren’t just _overlooking_ something.

“Where did he go?” asks Connor quietly.  Hank frowns. He’d had… some suspicions that Amanda was helping him out somehow, keeping his DNA from showing up at the other crime scenes, getting him home without being spotted, that sort of thing.  This just confirms it in his mind. _But if she can do shit like this, why doesn’t she just kill them herself?_ He wonders, baffled and a little annoyed.

“I think… someone is helpin’ us out,” he tells Connor.

“That… woman you told me about?”

Hank nods.  “Yeah. That’s gotta be it, right?  I mean, we were only in the bedroom for like 5 minutes, no one coulda came in here and taken care of shit so perfectly in that amount of time.”

Connor looks like he’s still having trouble accepting all of the unnatural shit that’s going on, so Hank wraps an arm around his waist.  “Well, now we don’t have to worry about it, right?”

Connor leans into him.  “But… where did it go?”

Hank shrugs one shoulder.  “Dunno. But I guarantee if Amanda’s doin’ this then no one's ever gonna find it.”

Connor still doesn’t look convinced, so Hank decides to distract him.  “Hey, I wanna get cleaned up. You wanna join me?”

That immediately gets a reaction, and Connor’s nodding eagerly before practically dragging Hank towards the bathroom.  Mission successful.

* * *

Hank insists on brushing his teeth before they get into the shower, telling Connor, “I taste like literal fuckin’ death, how can you even wanna kiss me?”  Connor just shrugs and strips quickly, getting into the shower and standing under the warm water, waiting for Hank. Hank hears him hum contently when the water hits his skin and decides his mouth is clean enough.  He yanks off his shirt, having to consign yet another one to the trash. He throws the rest of his clothes into a pile with Connor’s and pulls back the curtain to join his partner.

Connor’s standing in a spot that strategically keeps most of his hair out of the spray and Hank frowns slightly.  “Hey, Con…” he starts, and the smaller man looks at him. “You know you don’t… have to wear that around me if don’t want to.”  Connor’s hand flies up to his hair, self-conscious, and Hank feels bad for bringing it up. They never really mention it. “I just mean… you don’t have to wear it on my account.  But if it makes you feel more comfortable, forget I said anything.”

Connor _has_ gotten a bit more comfortable without his hair over the past few weeks, sometimes just wearing a beanie instead, and on occasion forgoing it completely when they sleep.  It always feels like a gift to Hank, knowing how Connor feels about his lack of hair and that's he's letting his guard down so totally. He's honored when Connor allows him to gently run a hand over his head, the short stubble of hair just starting to regrow somehow so soft.  This usually only happens in the dead of night, though, in the dark safety of their bedroom. Hank understands that Connor has to be in the right frame of mind.

Connor looks at him, contemplating.  “Thank you, Hank. You’re sweet. I just… it’s difficult.  I feel like I don’t recognize myself when I look in the mirror.  My hair is just starting to come back, and it looks strange… seeing it gives me a false feeling of hope, so it's easier to just… pretend. That's probably silly, and vain, but… it makes me feel… better.”

Hank nods and crowds into his space to kiss him, hands resting gently on his hips.  Before their lips touch, he murmurs, “of course, baby. Whatever you want,” and he can feel Connor’s soft smile against his own when they close the remaining distance.  Connor’s hands run up Hank’s chest before he wraps his arms around his neck, pulling him even closer. Hank hums contently as Connor’s tongue teases against his lips, and he opens his mouth to give him what he wants.  He feels Connor’s hands tangle into his hair, and he lets his own hands wander from Connor’s hips, grabbing his ass instead.

Connor groans into his mouth and sucks lewdly at his tongue.  That action goes straight to Hank’s cock, the heat of arousal pooling in his stomach.  He can easily imagine that mouth sucking on something else. He gives Connor’s ass a squeeze, pulling his cheeks apart slightly while he does.  Connor pulls back from their kiss with a gasp and his hips stutter as if he’s unsure which direction he wants to move them in more.

Tentatively, Hank lets his index finger slip between his cheeks, just barely brushing over his entrance.  “‘S’that okay?” he murmurs, trailing kisses over Connor’s neck. Connor gasps out an affirmative and tries to push back onto Hank’s digit, but Hank keeps it just out of his reach, circling his rim teasingly.  “Won't do you any good without lube,” he says between sucking at Connor's neck. Connor whimpers, desperate for it regardless.

Hank nips at a particularly sensitive area on Connor's neck before speaking lowly in his ear. “I'll finger fuck you until you come as soon as we get out of here if that's what you want.”  Connor moans at that suggestion as Hank's finger continues to ghost over his hole, and the sound makes his dick twitch with interest.

“I was…” Connor gasps out, having a hard time speaking, “I was supposed - oh fuck, Hank - to blow you, remember?”  

Hank growls, licking up the pale column of Connor's throat.  “We can do both, sweetheart, I got all fuckin’ night.” Connor shudders with excitement and very reluctantly pulls out of Hank's embrace.

“Then let's hurry up and get out of here,” he says, suddenly all business, grabbing the shampoo bottle and pouring some into his hand before lathering it into Hank's hair quickly.  Hank almost has to laugh at his efficiency, but then his erection brushes against Connor's thigh and he really appreciates it. The lather turns a pale pink color as it removes the blood from his hair, and he closes his eyes, bending slightly to make Connor's job easier.

The feeling of Connor's blunt nails scratching gently at his scalp is almost intoxicating.  A pleased purr rumbles through Hank's chest, and then Connor's shoving his head back under the spray of the water, rinsing his hair, leaving him sputtering.  Connors not wasting any more time, although he does pull Hank in for a quick kiss when all the shampoo is gone. Without any more preamble, Connor shuts the water off, and yanks open the shower curtain, hopping out.

Hank laughs, but the thought of Connor being so desperate for him is really going to his head. And his dick. Apparently, he's not moving fast enough, because a towel hits him in the face, Connor's impatience being made incredibly obvious.

Hank roughly dries his hair and does a halfway decent job of drying his body before wrapping the towel around his waist. Connor can't even be bothered with that, completely naked and half damp as he grabs Hank's hand, dragging him from the bathroom.  

Hank's busy gawking at Connor's ass, so he's caught off guard when the smaller man abruptly stops and shoves him against the wall outside their room, pressing their bodies together and giving him a sloppy kiss. Hank gasps against Connor's lips, his partner's enthusiasm contagious.  The sound of their mouths sliding together is loud in the otherwise quiet house.

Connor's hands are creeping towards his waist, going for his towel.  Hank is definitely on board for where this is heading, but they're interrupted by a quiet, curious boof behind them. Hank breaks their kiss, startled, and his head hits the wall behind him. They're both breathing heavily, flushed red, as they turn to look at Sumo. The cockblocking dog is standing there, head tilted inquisitively, watching them from the doorway.

Hank swears, eyes falling shut. “Fuck, Sumo,” he groans. “I appreciate you saving our asses earlier, but we'd really like a little privacy right now, ok bud?”  Connor's trying not to laugh, shaking as his head falls against Hank's chest.

“Just ignore him, Hank,” he murmurs, sucking at the pulse point on Hank's neck.

“I'm not doin’ this with my fuckin’ dog watching,” Hank tells him. To Sumo, he grunts, “go to bed, boy,” nodding towards the door to the spare room. Sumo hesitates for a moment before slinking into the room, and they wait until they hear the springs of the cot groaning under the weight of the massive dog.

“Are you satisfied now, Hank?” Connor asks, gently nipping at his neck. His hands are hovering eagerly by his waist, desperate to get rid of the towel between them.

Hank groans. “Yeah, fuck, go ahead,” and Connor doesn't need any more of an invitation. He makes short work of Hank's towel, hand wrapping around his dick without delay. Hank moans, low in his throat, as Connor starts stroking him. He's glad he's got the wall behind him to lean on, because Connor's already got him feeling weak. His head falls back and his eyes flutter closed as Connor touches him _just right_.

Connor's free hand gently strokes over his jaw, and Hank feels his warm breath against his ear when Connor tells him, “open your eyes, Hank.”  He struggles to follow Connor's instructions, but when he finally does he's rewarded by the other man gently angling his head in a way that gives him a perfect view of exactly what Connor's doing to him.  “Watch,” his lover breathes, and Hank groans as he focuses in on the sight of Connor's elegant fingers wrapped around his dick, jerking him off.

“Oh, shit…” Hank groans, the visual making him feel close to losing it.  Connor's rhythm slows down, pulling him back from the edge, and he looks up at Hank seductively.

“Can I use my mouth on you?” he murmurs.

“Fuck yeah,” Hank breathes, and Connor doesn't hesitate before dropping to his knees, looking like he's preparing to say a prayer instead of suck a cock. Connor looks so pretty like that, glancing up at Hank eagerly from under hooded eyes, and Hank almost comes the second Connor gives the head a tentative kitten lick.  The smaller man hums in satisfaction, seeming to get as much out of this as Hank does. “Jesus…” Hank chokes out, fighting the impulse to tangle his fingers into Connor's hair.

Slowly, Connor takes Hank into his mouth, seeing how much he can handle.  He makes a valiant effort at taking all of him, but it proves to be too much and he concedes defeat, wrapping a hand around the rest.  Hank's breathing heavily as he stares down at Connor, with his lips stretched wide over his dick. Connor's eyes meet his and he hums around Hank's cock, making Hank break the eye contact and look to the side, trying not to come before Connor even really does anything.

“Shit, baby…” Hank groans, followed by a moan that feels torn from his throat as Connor hollows his cheeks.  Hank brushes his fingers reverently over the outline of his dick pressed against Connor's cheek, and then Connor starts moving.

Hank’s pretty sure Connor was born to suck his cock.  That’s the only possible explanation for how good he is.  He catches onto what drives him wild very quickly, and keeps Hank on the edge the entire time.  The vague religious imagery from Hank’s previous thoughts rushes back to him, and he feels like this should definitely be considered a divine experience.  Heavenly.

He’s panting, hands curled into fists while Connor builds up a steady rhythm before pulling almost all the way off, tongue swirling around the head of his cock teasingly.  “Connor, fuckin’ hell…” Hank groans as Connor’s hands slide up his thighs, gently massaging them, neglecting his dick for a moment in favor of kissing the tattoos there.

“Your cock is so big, Hank,” Connor tells him between kisses, “I’ll have to _practice_ more, I want to take _all_ of you…”  Hank groans while Connor starts mouthing down the side of his dick, tongue searching for the most sensitive areas.

“Shit, Connor, I’m gonna-” Connor wastes no time taking him into his mouth again, picking up the pace.  Hank reaches down and cups his cheek with one hand, and Connor’s eyes flutter closed as he moans around Hank’s dick.  “Jesus,” Hank gasps, trying to push Connor off, but the other man stubbornly keeps going.

“Do you want me to come in your mouth?” Hank asks, breathless.  Connor moans again, and Hank takes that as confirmation. “Yeah, fuck, okay…” he growls, as Connor starts playing with his balls. That, in combination with the steady motion of his mouth, is enough to finally push Hank over the edge, and he comes with a low moan.

His head falls back against the wall and his eyes close while Connor makes a pleased noise.  He swallows everything Hank gives him and doesn’t stop until he’s totally spent. He pulls off of Hank’s dick with an obscene slurp and licks him a few times before letting his softening member rest against his thigh.  “You taste so good, Hank,” he says quietly, making a show of licking his lips.

“Holy shit,” Hank mumbles, no longer able to stay standing.  He slides down the wall into a sitting position, legs parting so Connor can sit between them.  Connor crowds into his space and trails wet kisses over his jaw.

“Was that good for you, darling?” Connor asks cheekily, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

Hank snorts, hauling Connor closer.  “What do you think?” he replies, and Connor grins.

“May I kiss you?” is Connor’s next question, a hand carding through Hank’s silver hair, and Hank responds by crashing their lips together, licking into Connor’s mouth without hesitation.  He can taste himself on Connor’s tongue. Connor’s moaning quietly into the kiss, and when they part Hank can see he’s got a hand wrapped around his own dick, slowly jerking himself off.

“None of that,” Hank tells him, grabbing his hand and stopping him.  Connor whimpers at the loss of contact, and Hank leans forward to growl in his ear.  “I don’t want you coming until I’ve got at least two fingers in your ass.” Connor shudders and quickly scrambles to his feet, pulling at Hank’s arm impatiently to get him moving.  Hank hauls himself up, legs still weak, and lets his partner drag him to their bedroom.

Connor crawls onto their bed, scooting up to rummage through the table by Hank’s side.  He finds the lube he bought on his first outing and shoves it into Hank’s hands, impatient.  “How do you want me?” he asks, biting his bottom lip.

Hank groans and his dick stirs with interest as he mentally runs through all the different positions he could have Connor in.  He doesn’t think he could get it up again this fast, but the imagery his mind supplies him with is really putting that theory to the test.

“On your back,” he finally decides.  “Wanna be able to see that pretty face.”  Connor nods, flushing slightly, piling their pillows on top of each other and leaning back against them, propped up so he can watch.  He lets his legs fall open shamelessly, making Hank swear as he crawls between them. Connor’s hard and leaking, and as much as Hank wants to get right to it, he’s fairly certain the other man isn’t going to last long at this rate.  So instead, he hovers over Connor, resting his forehead against his partner’s, closing his eyes.

“Haaaaank,” Connor whines, lifting his hips, searching for friction.

“Shh,” Hank tells him, brushing feather-light kisses against his lips.  “Don’t want this to be over too soon. Wanna take my time with you.”

“Oh…” Connor breathes, settling back against the sheets, returning Hank’s soft kisses.  His hand reaches up to tangle in Hank’s hair, keeping him close. They kiss unhurriedly for several minutes until Hank’s sure that Connor’s not teetering on the edge anymore.  He pulls back enough so that their eyes can meet and gives him a tender smile.

“You good, sweetheart?” he asks, cupping his cheek, and Connor nods dreamily.  Hank gently rubs his thumb over Connor’s sharp cheekbone before settling back between his legs, hands on his thighs, coaxing them further apart.

Connor sighs softly, and Hank takes a moment just to look at him, his eyes trailing slowly over every inch of his body, in awe that he's got this gorgeous man eagerly spreading his legs for him.  “God…” he breathes, a large hand running reverently over Connor’s hip. “You’re so fuckin’ beautiful…”

Connor flushes, the blush spreading from his face and down his neck, all the way to his chest.  Hank grabs the bottle of lube, pouring a generous amount on his fingers, rubbing them together to warm it up.  Connor’s watching him raptly, body tight with anticipation. “Relax, baby…” Hank murmurs to him, gently rubbing his thigh with his free hand.  “Don’t worry, I’m gonna take good care of you.”

“I’m not worried, Hank,” Connor assures him, pulling his knees up and resting his feet on the bed, breathing heavily.  “I just really want your fingers inside me.” Hank groans, hand moving from Connor’s thigh to his ass, spreading him open.  Connor angles his hips up and forces the tension out of his limbs, and Hank whistles lowly, eyes zeroing in on his hole.

“Jesus, look at that,” he says quietly as he runs a lube covered finger slowly over his entrance.  “Pretty little thing. You think this’ll even fit?” He’s teasing now, while he drizzles more lube right onto Connor’s hole, making him gasp and twitch.

“Mmmph, Hank, please…” Hearing Connor beg is a trip, and Hank slowly circles his finger around his rim before sliding the tip in.  Connor gasps again, and Hank pauses.

“You okay?” he murmurs, and Connor nods enthusiastically.  

“More.”  And Hank, unable to deny him anything, complies, slowly sinking into his tight heat up to the second knuckle.  Connor groans as Hank pulls his finger out before pushing it back in, slightly farther than before. He continues the slow, steady, in and out movement for a few moments, while Connor moans and arches his back.

“Another, Hank,” Connor breathes.  Hank nods, drizzling on some more lube for good measure before carefully pushing two fingers into him.  Connor’s hands grab onto fistfuls of the sheets as Hank slowly starts to scissor his fingers, stretching him.  “Ohhhhh…” Connor moans. He’s starting to pant, really coming undone, and Hank can’t get enough.

“That’s it, Connor.  You like that, baby?” he murmurs, watching his fingers disappear into Connor’s perfect ass.  Connor nods desperately. Hank crooks his fingers, searching, and then…

“Oh!” Connor cries out, trying to grind down harder on Hank’s fingers, wanting Hank to touch _that spot_ again.  Hank grins, pulling his fingers out before driving them back in and hitting his target perfectly.

“What do you think, baby boy?” Hank teases, rubbing against his prostate.  “Can you come without me touchin’ your dick?”

Connor whimpers, nodding, looking wrecked.  “God, I…” he rolls his hips, cock bobbing with the movement.  “Shouldn’t have blown you earlier… want you to fuck me…” Hank growls, pulling his fingers out.

“Another time,” he promises Connor, lubing up a third finger before sliding all three into him.  Connor lets out a keening moan, feeling the stretch, and Hank watches, transfixed, as Connor greedily pulls his fingers inside.  “You’re so fuckin’ tight, baby…” Hank murmurs, his free hand rubbing soothing circles over Connor's flat stomach. “Don’t know how I’m ever gonna get my cock in you.”  

Connor gives him look that clearly says he’s up for the challenge, and Hank chuckles.  “Gonna have to get you nice and loose. We might have to do this more often. Get that pretty little asshole ready for me.”  Connor whines, blushing at Hank's words but definitely not opposed to the idea, and a few gentle thrusts in and out have him panting, desperate for more.

“Faster,” he gasps, and Hank obliges, grabbing one of Connor’s legs and throwing it over his shoulder, giving him a better angle.  Connor’s heel presses against his back while Hank drives his fingers into him repeatedly, picking up speed. Connor’s a whimpering, moaning mess and he does his best to meet Hank’s fingers as they sink into him.  “Yes, Hank, like that…” he gasps as Hank hits  _that spot_ , and obscene, wet sounds fill the room.  Hank may have been overly generous with the lube.  

“God, Connor,” Hank grunts.  “You look so good, taking it like a champ…” and Connor moans.

“Harder, Hank.  Please. I’m so close, I need it...” he begs, and Hank gives up all pretense of being gentle, driving his fingers into Connor hard and fast.  “Oh, fuck…” Connor groans, entire body shifting with Hank’s movements. The mattress rocks back and forth and the bed frame squeaks loudly. “Yes, oh, fuck me harder…” Connor’s babbling, hands reaching up to cling to the headboard in an attempt to keep from touching himself.

“Good boy…” Hank growls, and the praise seems to be what tips Connor over the edge.  He comes over his stomach with a loud cry, clenching around Hank’s fingers as his back arches.  “Shit, Connor…” Hank continues to drive his fingers in and out of him as he comes. “You look so. Fucking. Hot.” He punctuates each word with another thrust, milking Connor for all he’s got. It seems to go on for ages.  Connor’s borderline incoherent, moaning Hank’s name in between gasps and pleas for more.

Eventually, his moans turn to whimpers and Hank pulls out of him with a wet sound, wiping his hand on the sheets.  Connor’s eyes are screwed shut and his chest is heaving, and Hank uses the already dirtied sheets to clean him off before settling into the space beside him, pulling him into his arms.  “Are you okay?” he murmurs gently, peppering kisses across his face.

Connor’s eyes are glassy when he opens them, unfocused and blissed out.  “Yeah, God…” he breathes. “I’m great. That was great.” A single tear runs down his cheek, and Hank kisses it away.

“You sure?” Hank asks, a little concerned.  Connor nods insistently.

“I feel incredible.  I _needed_ that, it was… so good,” he tells Hank, curling up against his side and resting his head on his chest.  Hank kisses the top of his head before shoving their dirtied blanket out of the way and wrapping them in a clean one, thankful for Connor's habit of turning their bed into a nest.  He rests a hand low on Connor’s back, right above the swell of his ass, and Connor lazily purrs at the sensation. They lay there in silence, their breathing synching up, sweat drying on their skin.

The rain is still falling steadily outside, the sound of it on the window almost comforting in its familiarity.  Connor starts gently tracing the faded lines of the tattoo on Hank’s chest, a content sigh falling from his lips. “Hank?” he murmurs quietly.

“Hmm?” Hank replies as he lazily runs his hand up Connor’s back.

“I want to tell you something.  And I don’t want you to think I’m only saying it because you just made me come harder than I have in months with only your fingers.”

Hank snorts, filled with a smug sense of satisfaction.  His hand slides gently back down Connor’s spine. “You can tell me anything, sweetheart.”

Connor lifts his head from Hank’s chest so he can look him in the eye.  He seems nervous. “When… when you were dead… I really didn’t believe you were going to come back.”  Hank holds him tighter, kissing the tip of his nose.

“I’ll always come back for you, Con,” he tells him, not caring how sappy the words sound.

Connor exhales, a small smile gracing his features.  “I know that now. But… while I was sitting there with you… before you came back… all I could think of was that I never really told you how I felt about you.”

Hank’s heart starts beating faster as he gets a good idea about where this conversation is going.  “And…” he starts nervously. He clears his throat. “And how do you feel? About me?”

Connor’s eyes dart to the side nervously, but then he takes a deep breath and resolutely makes eye contact again.  His hand slides over Hank’s chest, resting over his heart. Hank’s sure the other man can feel how fast it’s beating.  “I… I love you.”

Hank knew it was coming, and yet the words still knock the air from his lungs.  What could he have possibly done to deserve the love of someone as precious as Connor?  “Shit…” he breathes, pulling the smaller man closer and kissing him deeply. Connor makes a surprised noise, but his hands quickly come up to cup Hank’s face, kissing him back passionately.  

Hank feels overwhelmed, unable to contain his love for Connor.  Because, of course, he loves him, too. He came into his life at the lowest point possible and pulled him out of the dark.  He’s kind, and thoughtful, and smart, and… Hank realizes he should stop kissing Connor and actually tell him all the thoughts racing through his mind.

Hank pulls back, and Connor’s looking at him in concern.  “Hank, you’re crying.” Hank reaches up to touch his face, surprised that his fingers _do_ come away wet.  He gives Connor a reassuring smile.

“I’m okay,” he promises.  “You’re just… you’re incredible.”  Connor smiles, seeming relieved. “And… I love you, too.  Of course I do.” Hank really can’t believe how easy it is to tell Connor this, to express his feelings so freely.  He’s never liked talking about these things, and yet…

It’s Connor’s turn to tear up now, and he buries his face in Hank’s chest, overcome.  Hank rubs his back gently, trying to find a way to articulate just how much Connor means to him.

“Connor, baby…” he murmurs, kissing the top of his head.  “You know I’m shit at talking about… feelings but… Thank you.”

Connor presses a kiss over his heart.  “You don’t have to _thank me_ , Hank.”

Hank shakes his head.  “No, I do, I mean… you’ve helped me more in the short time we’ve known each other than I managed to help myself in the past four years.  And you didn’t think twice about it. You’re… you’re such a good person, and I still feel like I don’t deserve you, but I’m so glad we met.  It was… _you are_ more than I could have ever imagined.”  Hank knows he’s rambling, but for him, this is on par with writing epic love poems.  Which Connor makes him feel like he could do.

Connor rubs his face against Hank’s chest like a cat, a tender smile on his face.  “Hank, you seem to think that this relationship has only been beneficial to you, but that can’t be further from the truth.  You were on my side from the second we met, and being with you has made me feel more alive than I have since… everything happened.  It doesn’t hurt that you are incredibly handsome, too,” Connor says with a grin.

Hank can't even find it in himself to argue with Connor's assessment. With a chuckle, he squeezes him tighter, as much of a hug as he can give in their current position.  “I guess I gotta be to land someone as good lookin’ as you.” Connor rolls his eyes but he’s still smiling, and the two of them fall silent.

Outside, the rain continues to fall, but the two men don’t even notice it, feeling too wrapped up in each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i didnt know what to do w michaels body cause susans cats straight up ate the guy and sumo wasnt abt to do that lmfao. anyway wow a love confession on valentines day, how sappy. not that its valentines day in this story, but u feel me. also. every time i post something Sexy i instantly want to crawl into a hole and hide so!!! also the word finger/s no longer feels like a Real word. there r so few synonyms. 
> 
> thats all for now, be my friend on twitter ;)


	35. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> previously: _Hank can't even find it in himself to argue with Connor's assessment. With a chuckle, he squeezes him tighter, as much of a hug as he can give in their current position. “I guess I gotta be to land someone as good lookin’ as you.” Connor rolls his eyes but he’s still smiling, and the two of them fall silent._
> 
> _Outside, the rain continues to fall, but the two men don’t even notice it, feeling too wrapped up in each other._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tries to write a filler chapter to move some plot shit along, somehow ends up making it horny  
> NSFW warning ! :)

Despite the plan to start their investigation the next day, the two of them end up delaying it longer than they should, spending days savoring each other’s company and enjoying the high of newly acknowledged feelings.  With no more secrets between them, no more bad memories hanging like dark clouds over their heads, their relationship flourishes, and Hank feels free in a way he hasn’t in years.

They spend a lot of time in bed, just holding each other.  They take Sumo for walks at Connor’s insistence on the rare occasion that it doesn’t rain. The simple act of getting out of the house and moving seems to help Hank’s mood a little.  They even manage to take an afternoon to get the fence fixed. Hank’s phone quickly fills up with pictures of Connor, Connor with Sumo, and the occasional picture of the both of them.  Hank even relents and allows Connor to put some of the better ones on facebook. Which he still refuses to use. He's pretty sure Connor takes care of that for him, though. He's almost afraid to see what the other man's made him out to be online.

Connor cooks healthy shit every night for dinner, while Hank hangs around, unable to keep his hands to himself and generally being a nuisance, much to Connor's delight.  At night they curl up on the sofa and listen to Hank’s records, exchanging stories about their lives, getting to know each other even better.

It's not all perfect. Hank still has days where he can't get out of bed, where the guilt of the past suddenly overwhelms him and he drinks way too much of the beer Connor keeps in the fridge for him. It doesn't even get him drunk, though, and he ends up feeling worse about it.

Connor has bad days, too. His symptoms will make themselves apparent at seemingly random times, and the recovery period leaves him sad and despondent. But something's changed. Now, they have each other to lean on when things get rough, and that makes a world of difference. It's not all perfect, but sometimes it feels pretty damn close.

Hank tells Connor he loves him several times a day, and Connor returns it with a goofy smile every time. It's unbelievable.  Their map of the apartment hangs on the fridge, reminding them every day of the investigation they’ve been putting off, and before they even realize it, Connor has been living there for two months.  The best months in Hank’s recent memory. And the not so recent, too. In the back of his mind, a cruel voice whispers to him _only four months left,_ but he does his best to ignore it.

Their sexual encounters keep getting better, too.  Hank’s certain they’re going to reach a plateau, but every time somehow seems even better than the last.  They haven’t had penetrative sex yet, but now, with their feelings out in the open, it doesn’t feel as urgent. It seems like they’re both still looking for the right moment.  Lazy handjobs at odd times of the day have become normal for them, and Connor never seems to tire of blowing him.

Connor can be almost insatiable, and Hank sometimes finds it difficult to keep up.  He also finds he doesn’t mind at all. At first, Connor seemed reluctant to let Hank do something for him when he isn’t getting anything in return, but Hank gently reassures him that it’s not nearly as one-sided as Connor thinks.  

In fact, Hank really enjoys making Connor come, even when he doesn’t himself.  It’s a powerful, seductive feeling, and it gives Hank a lot of inspiration for their future encounters, too.  It’s such a fucking turn on that Connor’s _always_ in the mood because of him.  Sometimes he doesn’t even have to do anything besides sit back and watch Connor get himself off, offering him praise while he strokes his dick or slides his fingers into his own ass.  It’s incredible.

Right now, though, things are a bit more mutual, with Hank sitting on the sofa and Connor laid out beside him, on his stomach with his head in Hank’s lap while he sucks him off.  Hank’s groaning, head thrown back against the sofa with a hand down the back of Connor’s leggings, two fingers teasing his hole.

They had been relaxing there after dinner, and then suddenly Connor had been sucking on his fingers, and then undoing his jeans and taking his cock out and sucking on that instead.  Hank had taken Connor’s none too subtle hint and slid his spit-slick fingers into him with relative ease.

It’s hard to concentrate when Connor’s sucking his dick _like that,_ but every time Hank hits that bundle of nerves inside of him Connor moans, and the vibration is a very good motivator.  Connor, meanwhile, rotates between grinding down against the sofa and pushing up onto Hank’s fingers. This… it’s almost intoxicating, and Hank almost worries he could get more addicted to it than he is to alcohol.  

Connor always makes it his mission to make Hank come first, but a lot of the time he isn’t successful in that endeavor.  Tonight, however, it seems like he just might get what he wants. Hank’s panting harshly, trying his hardest not to thrust up into Connor’s perfect mouth, but it’s very difficult when he does _that thing_ with his tongue.  

“Connor, Jesus…” Hank groans, and Connor hums around his cock.  “Oh, fuck…” Hank’s hips jerk, accidentally bucking up into Connor’s mouth and gagging him slightly. Hank stills immediately.  “Shit, baby, sorry…” he murmurs guiltily, thrusting his fingers into Connor particularly hard in apology. Connor takes it all in stride, moaning.  Hank thinks he probably likes it.

Connor’s warm mouth and talented tongue continue working him over, making Hank murmur, “I’m gonna come, sweetheart,” and Connor, bless him, starts moving faster. Hank can’t hold back any longer, and he finishes in his mouth with a low moan.  Connor lets out a moan of his own, swallowing around him, and Hank really can’t believe this is his life right now. When Connor finally pulls off of him, pushing himself up onto his elbows and wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, his face is flushed and his pupils are blown wide.

Hank continues fingering him as he catches his breath, but his movements are slow and off-rhythm.  “Fuck, Connor…” he mumbles. Connor’s staring up at him like he’s the most precious thing in the universe, and Hank can’t help but tell him, “God, I love you.”  Connor gives him a dopey grin.

“I love you too, Hank,” he says.  The words make Hank’s heart flutter just as much as they did the first time.  Despite the awkward angle, he leans down and shares a gentle kiss with Connor, sucking at his bottom lip.  Connor whimpers, making Hank remember that his lover is still hard and wanting.

“What do you want me to do to you?” Hank asks lowly, and the question makes Connor shiver.

“So much…” he replies, making Hank laugh.  

“Okay, well, how about right now?” he clarifies, fingers stretching him.

Connor shudders.  “Want your mouth on me…” he whines, and Hank is up off the sofa in a second, grabbing Connor and flipping him over onto his back, making him gasp.  Connor loves Hank’s casual displays of strength, loves when he manhandles him into whatever position he wants. Hank grins.

“You okay there, Con?” Hank teases him, wasting no time pulling his tight leggings off of him, groaning when he is treated to the sight of the lacy underwear Connor likes to wear underneath.  “You are unbelievable.” Normally, Hank would like to tease him through his panties, really take his time and appreciate the view, but Connor’s been hard the entire time he was blowing Hank, and his dick is straining against the lace.  “God, I wish I had a camera right now,” Hank growls, fingers slipping under the waistband.

Connor pants, biting his lip and staring up at Hank.  “Go get your phone. I’ll wait.”

Hank pauses, considering it.  He hadn't been serious, but… The thought of being able to see Connor like this whenever he wants is an exciting one, and he runs a hand over his erection through the lace while he contemplates it, making the smaller man moan.

“Would you like that?” Hank teases as Connor squirms.  “Would you like knowing that I have that on my phone, that I can see you like this any time I want?”  Connor moans again in reply, nodding frantically. Hank slides a hand into his panties, wrapping it around his cock.  It’s a little difficult to maneuver, but Connor reacts beautifully regardless. Hank strokes him slowly, acting like he’s still thinking it over.

“Hank, please…” Connor whimpers, his back arching.  Hank takes mercy on him and pulls his hand out of his underwear, leaning in and kissing him quickly.

“Okay, sweetheart,” he murmurs against his lips.  “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”

Connor nods in agreement, reaching down and squeezing himself through his underwear as his eyes flutter shut.  “Hurry.”

Hank definitely hurries to their room before he can get distracted watching Connor.  Grabbing his phone off the nightstand, he unplugs it from the charger before pivoting and heading right back to Connor, eager not to miss anything.  

He arrives back in the living room and is greeted by the sight of Connor still palming himself through his underwear, eyes closed and mouth hanging open.  Hank snaps a picture of him before the other even realizes he’s there, a totally candid shot.

As he approaches, Connor’s eyes slowly open, and the look he gives Hank is almost enough to get him going again.  He sits on the edge of the sofa, unable to resist running a hand over the planes of Connor’s stomach, making him exhale shakily.  “Keep touchin’ yourself, baby, I wanna get some good pictures,” he tells him. Connor obliges with a moan, and Hank gets a few _very good_ shots of him before putting his phone to the side and pulling Connor’s panties down his hips, just enough to free his dick.

Connor lets out a relieved sigh, and everything about him seems like a wet dream.  Hank’s fairly certain he’s never seen anything quite as alluring, the black lace standing out in stark contrast against Connor’s pale thighs, his cock hard and weeping.  He can’t resist getting another picture, after making sure it’s still okay with Connor. He wraps his hand around Connor's dick, stroking him slowly, marveling at the sight of his own large hand and how small Connor looks in comparison. He has to have a picture of that, too.

He teasingly rubs his thumb over the head of Connor’s cock, gathering the precome before sucking it off his finger.  Connor watches him, wide-eyed. “You taste good, Con…” he whispers, leaning down and taking the head into his mouth.

“Haaaank…” Connor breathes, a hand tangling into his hair.  Hank hums, swirling his tongue along the tip, making Connor mewl.  Slowly, he takes the rest of him into his mouth. Connor’s cock isn’t the biggest one Hank’s ever sucked, but he’s still stupidly prideful about being able to take all of him.  It never fails to drive Connor wild. Connor tugs lightly at his hair and Hank grunts, encouraging it as he starts building up a rhythm. “Hank… oh…” Connor utters, and Hank puts his hands on his hips, taking the precaution in case Connor loses control.  Plus, he knows that Connor enjoys being held down, likes when Hank’s strength and size are made obvious.

Connor’s fingers card through his hair while Hank’s gently run up and down his protruding hip bones.  “Hank, can I…” Connor starts, cutting off in the middle of his sentence to gasp. Hank would smirk if he could.  “Can I…” Connor tries again, swallowing thickly. “… record this?” He sounds nervous despite his arousal, as if he’s afraid he isn’t actually allowed to ask.  Hank pulls off of his cock, tonguing at the slit before glancing up to meet his eyes.

“Anything you want,” Hank tells him huskily, and Connor releases his hair, frantically groping around for Hank’s phone.  Hank laughs quietly before getting back to work, still in disbelief that he’s almost fifty years old and his sex life now includes taking pictures and making videos with his incredibly attractive boyfriend.

One of Connor’s hands tangles back into Hank’s hair, the other busy with his phone.  Hank takes Connor’s cock in deep before pulling off again, running his tongue up his length, putting on a bit of a show.  Connor whimpers and Hank pauses, sucking on his fingers for a moment before sliding them into Connor's ass while taking his cock back into his mouth.  

Connor gasps, trailing off into a moan as Hank finds his prostate.  “Hank, I’m…” His hips make an aborted attempt at a thrust, but Hank can still hold him down with relative ease and that seems to turn Connor on even more.  

Hank pulls off again, glancing up at him.  “Are you gonna come, sweetheart?” he asks, voice low, and Connor nods tightly.  Hank grins and murmurs, “good,” before taking him back into his mouth, bobbing his head quickly and bringing Connor to the edge.

“Hank…!” Connor cries out, pulling at his hair as he comes down his throat.  Connor’s moaning, hips rolling slightly, until Hank’s sucked him dry. “Fuck…” he breathes as Hank pulls off of his dick, licking the head teasingly once, making Connor gasp and twitch.  “Hank…!” he squeaks, and Hank takes pity on him, giving him a break. Connor drops his phone heavily onto the carpeted floor, arms feeling weak. Hank sits up, removing his fingers from him before resting his hands on his thighs, squeezing gently.  Connor hums, eyes closing as his breathing evens out.

“God, Connor…” Hank whispers.  “You’re so beautiful…” His partner’s face flushes even deeper.  He pulls Connor’s panties back up, and Connor lazily lifts his hips to make it easier.  They’re both quiet for a moment, and Hank’s unable to stop staring at the gorgeous man laying on the sofa beside him.  After a beat, Hank snorts, and Connor’s eyes pop open.

“What’s so funny, Hank?” he pouts.  Hank shakes his head, chuckling.

“I can’t believe you recorded that.”  

Connor grins lazily.  “Do you want to watch it?”

Hank pulls him in for a long, deep kiss, and nothing else gets done for the rest of the evening.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hides my face in my hands no one look at me ever again  
> sorrry ive been slackin on posting updates, ive been........ a liiiiiiiiiiiittle obsessed w my ts4 hankcon family rn i post abt them on my twitter a lot if thats ur jam ;p


	36. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> previously: _“God, Connor…” Hank whispers. “You’re so beautiful…” His partner’s face flushes even deeper. He pulls Connor’s panties back up, and Connor lazily lifts his hips to make it easier. They’re both quiet for a moment, and Hank’s unable to stop staring at the gorgeous man laying on the sofa beside him. After a beat, Hank snorts, and Connor’s eyes pop open._
> 
> _“What’s so funny, Hank?” he pouts. Hank shakes his head, chuckling._
> 
> _“I can’t believe you recorded that.”_
> 
> _Connor grins lazily. “Do you want to watch it?”_
> 
> _Hank pulls him in for a long, deep kiss, and nothing else gets done for the rest of the evening._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW! we r finally moving towards the end now, really getting into the plotty stuff. exciting.

Today’s the day.  The day they finally start their investigation, and with any luck, the day that Connor will get to confront Elijah and get the closure he needs.  Hank’s really not sure how this day will end, but he’s prepared to support Connor regardless.

The two of them leave the apartment sometime in the late morning, their map and Connor’s lockpicking tools in tow.  Hank tells Connor that they should really try to avoid breaking and entering as much as possible, but Connor just laughs, which doesn’t instill a whole lot of confidence.

Hank locks their own door behind them and then turns to Connor for direction.  He’s pretty much going to let his partner run the show, and be backup when he needs it.  Connor exhales deeply and gives Hank a bright smile, moving into his space and standing on his toes, kissing him.  He clutches handfuls of Hank’s shirt, and Hank wraps his arms around him, smiling into the kiss.

“What was that for?” he murmurs when they part, lips separated by less than an inch.  Connor gives him a look so full of adoration it almost knocks the wind out of him.

“Because I love you.  And because I wanted to say ‘thank you’ for helping me.  I can’t explain how much this means to me.”

Hank rests his forehead against Connor’s, a warm feeling blossoming in his chest.  “I love you, too,” he tells Connor quietly. “And I’ll do whatever you need me to do.  We’re gonna find this guy.”

Hank’s confidence seems to inspire Connor, and he ends their embrace and pulls the map out of his pocket, ready to go.

“Should we start right here?” he asks Hank.  “Talk to the girls across the hall first?”

Hank nods.  “Seems like as good a place as any.  Do you wanna do the talking?”

Connor ponders this, then nods.  “I probably should, right? I mean… this is kinda my thing.”

Hank kisses his temple.  “I’ll be here if you need some assistance, though.”

Connor smiles, taking a deep breath, and knocks on their neighbor’s door.

It’s a bit anticlimactic when no one answers.  Connor pouts, pressing his ear to the door. “I don’t hear anything inside,” he tells Hank.

Hank can’t believe he’s already about to suggest this, but…  “Can you pick the lock?”

Connor grins at him.  “Are you suggesting breaking the law, lieutenant?”

Hank rolls his eyes.  “Quit fuckin’ around and get on with it, if we both get arrested we’re not gonna have anyone to bail us out of jail.”

Connor laughs and kneels down to examine the lock.  His good humor fades fast, though, and soon he’s glaring at the doorknob as if it insulted him personally.

“This is… a really intense lock,” Connor admits reluctantly.  “It might be beyond my skill level.”

Hank raises an eyebrow.  “I thought you were an _expert_ ,” he teases, and Connor shoots him a glare.

“I am!”  He actually sounds a little offended.  “But this is just… over the top. Why would anyone need this kind of lock here?  Do you think they have something to hide?”

That makes Hank quit his teasing.  “You could be right,” he admits as Connor stands in defeat.  “We’ll come back later, maybe they’re just… out?” He doesn’t sound convincing even to his own ears.

“Yeah… maybe…” Connor murmurs.  “Although now that I think about it, I’ve never met either of them, and I’ve been living here for over two months.  You’d think I would have at least seen them in passing.”

Hank realizes Connor’s right, he can’t really recall the last time he saw either of the Edens.  The thought makes him uneasy. Where could they have gone? He surely would have noticed if they moved out.

“Let's… check out another apartment, huh?” he asks Connor, and the other man nods.  They walk away, glancing backward at the door to apartment #1 as they go. It suddenly seems much more ominous than it did minutes ago.

They pause at the stairway.  A flight of stairs leads down, into the basement where the extra storage space is.  Hank figures they don’t need to check there right away, and they head upstairs instead.

“I’m pretty sure the apartment above the Eden’s is empty.  We could check that one out real quick and rule it out?”

“Good idea,” Connor agrees.  The younger man knocks on the door, and they aren’t surprised when no one answers.  Connor grins. “Now this lock… this one will be easy.”

Hank folds his arms over his chest and stands back.  “Go for it, hotshot.”

Connor shoos him away.  “I can’t do it when you’re staring at me.”

That makes Hank snort.  “What, got stage fright?”

Connor glares at him, but the effect is kind of ruined because Hank thinks he’s so… cute.  He leans in and pecks Connor’s lips quickly, then turns and faces the opposite wall, making a show of giving Connor his privacy.

He can hear Connor fiddling with the lock, and after only a few moments his partner lets out a triumphant sound.  “We’re in, Hank,” he says, sounding proud.

Hank turns back around and has to admit he’s impressed with Connor’s skills.  “Good job, Con.” _Time to break and enter with my boyfriend, I guess,_ Hank thinks, resigned, as the two of them walk cautiously inside.  Hank shuts the door behind them and takes a look around.

It’s fairly obvious that the place is abandoned after only a brief glance.  What little furniture is there is old and broken, covered in a fine layer of dust.  There are no curtains on the windows and the gray daylight filters in unimpeded. Just to be sure, they take a quick spin through all the rooms.  The layout is exactly the same as Hank’s apartment, so it’s very easy for them to check everything quickly.

Their last stop is the room which, in their apartment, would be the spare room.  Cole’s old room. Hank pauses, idly running a finger over the latch on the window.  His finger comes away dusty. This window shuts correctly. _What if we’d bought this apartment instead of the other?_ He starts thinking.   _Would Cole still be alive?_  Hank’s getting lost in his thoughts, getting buried under ‘what if’s’, and then he feels Connor’s arms wrap around him from behind, nuzzling his face between his shoulder blades.  

“Are you okay, Hank?” Connor asks gently, as if he knows his thoughts.  He probably does. Hank lets out a shuddering sigh. _Connor._  That’s his entire thought.  If he lived here instead, would he have ever even met the other man?  Probably not. The thought makes Hank want to weep, he can’t imagine his life without him anymore.  But… he only met Connor because of events that transpired after Cole died. _Because_ Cole died.

“Oh, God…” he whispers, and Connor squeezes him tighter.  He shouldn’t be enjoying his time with Connor as much as he has, he shouldn’t…

“Hank,”  Connor says firmly, breaking him out of the negative tangent he’s gone off on.   _Right,_ he thinks.   _There’s no point in dwelling on what could have happened.  The only thing that matters is what we have now._  He’s gotten better at telling himself things like this, mostly thanks to Connor’s constant reminders.  It’s still incredibly difficult, though. A tough habit to break.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Hank tells him.  “I was… feeling guilty.” He feels Connor nod, as if he already knew what was going through his mind.

They stand there quietly for a few minutes, with Hank relaxing into Connor’s embrace.  Connor presses a kiss to his shoulder, and then-

“Hank?” the other asks cautiously.  Hank hums, an invitation for Connor to continue.  Connor rests his forehead against Hank’s back, hiding his face.  His question comes out muffled, quiet. “What does depression feel like?”

Hank sucks in a sharp breath.  Connor’s tense, but he doesn’t take back his question.  He’s quiet, letting Hank think.

Staring out the window, but not really seeing anything, Hank murmurs, “sometimes it feels like… I just want to die.  But I have to live.” The confession is tough, even though Connor already knows about his… suicidal ideations. He feels guilty for still feeling this way after all Connor’s done for him, even though, logically, he knows that isn’t a magic cure-all.

Hank wishes he could really articulate exactly the way he feels, how pointless most things seemed for so long, but he can’t speak past the lump in his throat.

“That’s funny,” says Connor, voice trembling, and Hank knows his partner actually thinks it's the exact opposite.  “Sometimes… I feel like… I want to live. But I have to die.”

Hank feels like he’s been punched in the stomach, and he turns in Connor’s arms so he can hold him properly.  “I’m sorry, Con…” he murmurs into his hair. “That was an incredibly insensitive thing to say…”

Connor clings to him, shaking his head fiercely.  “No, Hank, never be afraid to be honest about how you feel.  Not with me,” he insists. “I asked because I really wanted to know.  And because I want to be honest with you, too. We can’t help the way we feel.  We can only help each other deal with the tough things.”

Once again, Hank’s overwhelmed with how wonderful Connor is, with how much he loves him.  He holds him tighter. He never wants to let go. “You’re incredible, Connor,” Hank tells him.  Connor manages a small smile and buries his face in Hank’s chest.

“And you are amazing, Hank,” is his muffled reply.  Hank smiles, kissing the top of his head.

“We can stop for today if you want.  This has been… pretty intense so far.”

Connor shakes his head.  “We’re just getting started.  Let’s keep going.” They separate, and Connor takes out their map, drawing an ‘x’ through apartment number three.  Then he leads Hank out of the empty apartment, lacing their fingers together as they go. Hank smiles. Even just holding Connor’s hand is… really good.

They exit the empty apartment, shutting the door behind them, being careful to leave it undisturbed.  Connor’s glaring at the door to apartment number four. Perkins’ place. “Why don’t we save that one for later, babe?” Hank asks quickly.  He doesn’t want Connor to get distracted. Connor exhales an angry breath through his nose but reluctantly lets Hank drag him up the next flight of stairs.

Connor glances between number five and number six, contemplating.

“What are you thinking, Con?” Hank asks, wondering what his game plan is.

Connor chews his lip, swinging their joined hands back and forth, thinking.  “Okay!” he says after a moment. “I think I’ve got an idea.” He lets go of Hank’s hand and raps smartly on the door to apartment number five.  Hank shrugs, leaning against the wall and letting Connor do his thing.

A moment later the door opens, and they’re greeted by a pretty blonde girl wearing a stylish blue dress, feet bare on the worn floor.  She tilts her head slightly in question but smiles when she sees Hank. “Oh, hello,” she says warmly. “It’s Hank, right?” Hank nods.

“Uhh, yeah, and this is Connor, he-”

Connor cuts him off, and Hank’s glad because he has exactly no idea what the plan is.  “I moved in with Hank recently. I’m attending the local community college.”

The woman smiles.  “It’s nice to meet you, Connor.  I’m Chloe.”

Connor shakes her hand, giving her that disarming smile in return.  “I’m really sorry to bother you, but... I’ve got to gather some information for one of my classes… survey people about their internet use?  And the only person I really know in the area is my partner,” he says, nodding towards Hank.

Hank’s impressed with Connor’s story and how naturally he sells it.  He smiles at the ground, trying not to be obvious about it.

“Hank mentioned that maybe some people in the building might be willing to help.  It will only take a few minutes.”

Chloe’s looking at him like he’s a small animal that she wants to hold, and Hank thinks that’s about the correct reaction to Connor asking for help.  It’s truly unfair. Connor is irresistible. In retrospect, that’s probably how he managed to worm his way into Hank’s apartment and then into his life so fast.  He can’t even be mad about it.

“Of course,” she says with a kind smile.  “I’d be happy to help you out. What can I do for you?”

Connor gives her a grateful look and a brilliant smile.  “Thank you so much! First, can I ask you, do you have a computer with an internet connection?”  Connor pulls a small notepad from his back pocket, which Hank didn’t even know he was carrying and acts like he’s poised to take notes.  Unbelievable.

Chloe frowns.  “I don’t, actually.”  She looks like she feels bad about that, like she’s worried Connor won’t find this helpful.  Connor’s eyebrows raise in surprise, and she hurries to explain. “My laptop broke, and I never got a new one so… I canceled my internet.  There was really no point? And it saves me money.”

“Oh, okay,” Connor says.  “How long have you been without internet, then?  If you could estimate?”

Chloe purses her lips, thinking.  “Probably about a year and a half?  I mostly just use my phone’s data for internet stuff anymore.  I have unlimited so…?”

Connor nods, pretending to write that down.  Hank can tell he’s already mentally crossing her off his list, and he has to agree.  His cop instincts are telling him she’s not the one. She seems… too kind, and too earnest.  Almost like Connor. _But,_ Hank thinks, _Connor is a lot more than he seems._  

Before he can give that more thought, however, a voice from the stairs interrupts them.  “The fuck are you doing up here, Anderson?”  Hank cringes, really not looking forward to a conversation with Gavin Reed, but unable to avoid it.  This past months without seeing him had been bliss. Too bad good things never seem to last. “Didn’t think you’d be able to haul your drunk ass up the stairs.”

Hank groans, and turns to face Gavin.  It seems like he’s just returning from work.  He looks disheveled, like he spent the night at the station.  A tough case, maybe. He sees Chloe standing in her doorway and he narrows his eyes.

“This guy botherin’ you, Clo?” he asks, but then he sees Connor and gets distracted.  “And who the fuck is this?”

Chloe shakes her head, eyes rolling.  “No, they’re not bothering me, Gavin, settle down.  Stop trying to pick a fight over every little thing.”  Hank snorts, and Gavin glares at him. “Connor was just asking me some things for a school project.  He’s new in town, he doesn’t know very many people.”

Gavin looks him over critically.  Hank’s not sure he likes that. “And what the fuck are you doin’ hanging around with Anderson?”  Gavin asks. “If you need someone to show you around, I can help you with that…” He leans in closer to Connor but his eyes seek out Hank’s as he does.  Hank’s eyes, in return, narrow, unable to believe that Reed really seems like he’s trying to pick up his boyfriend while he’s standing _right there._

Connor tilts his head, giving Gavin a once over of his own.  His mouth barely twitches as he conceals a grin, and Hank can tell he’s concluded… something. He’s just not sure what it is.  He’ll have to ask when they’re alone. “I live with him,” Connor tells Gavin while moving closer to Hank's side. He looks closely at him as he says the next sentence.  “He’s my boyfriend.”

Gavin does a double take at this.  Sputtering, he looks between Hank and Connor, incredulous.  “You’re dating _this guy?”_ he asks Hank in disbelief.  Hank shrugs.

“Yeah.  Sure am.”  Hank can’t help the warm smile he shoots Connor.  Connor returns it with a sappy look of his own.

“Fuckin’ gross,” Gavin mutters, turning aggressive now that he knows Connor’s off limits.  “So that’s why you’ve been blowing off work? Too busy with your rent boy?” Hank rounds on Gavin, angry and ready to defend Connor’s honor (and more than a little annoyed that everyone thinks he needs to _pay_ for Connor’s affections), but Connor steps between them.

“It’s okay,” Connor murmurs, a gentle hand on his arm.  Hank glares at Gavin but backs down.

“Fowler said you were on leave,” Gavin glares right back.  “Wait until I tell him what you’re really up to. Fucking some college kid in his twenties.”

Hank rolls his eyes.  “Fuck off, Reed, he’s already met Connor, he knows exactly what’s goin’ on.  And it’s not what you’re implying, so… fuck you.”

“Great comeback, Hank,” Gavin sneers.  Chloe’s looking troubled, unsure of what to do.  Hank takes a deep breath, really not in the mood for Reed’s shit right now.  Connor’s thumb is rubbing soothing circles on his arm, and he focuses on that instead.

“I think it would be beneficial for you to be less antagonistic towards Hank,” Connor tells Gavin seriously, and Hank tries his hardest not to laugh.  “Also, I'm thirty-four.”

Hank chuckles. “Come on, sweetheart,” He murmurs to Connor.  “Don’t bother, let's just go.”

“Yeah, _sweetheart_ ,” Gavin mocks.  “Listen to your _daddy_ and get outta here.”  Hank’s hand clenches into a fist, but Connor, surprisingly, laughs.

“I think you’re projecting,” Connor tells him, and Gavin’s face flushes an angry red.  Hank’s not sure what he’s talking about, but it appears he struck a nerve. Chloe grabs onto Gavin’s arm and tugs him towards her apartment.

“Come on Gav,” she coaxes, voice soothing.  “Let's have some wine, that’d be good, right?”

Gavin glares but allows Chloe to lead him inside.  “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he bites out at Connor, and Connor just smiles serenely and leans into Hank’s side, seeming to really make a show out of it.  Hank’s not sure what’s going on, but he rests a hand on the small of Connor’s back, leading him away.

“Thank you for your help, Chloe,” Connor calls over his shoulder.  “You should come by our place some night for dinner.” Hank’s eyebrows raise at that, and he pinches Connor’s waist lightly.  He did _not_ sign up to be… _social._  Chloe shoots them a strained smile as she shoves Gavin into her apartment, firmly shutting the door.  They can faintly hear the sound of her scolding him for his rudeness before they move deeper into the apartment, and Connor covers his mouth, trying to hold back a laugh.  Hank’s totally lost.

“ _What_ the fuck was that all about?” he asks.

“Oh, Hank,” Connor sighs, an amused smile on his face.  “You really don’t know?”

Hank’s frustrated.  “I literally have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Connor kisses his cheek.  “I’ll tell you later. But right now, I’m breaking into his apartment.”

Before Hank can even process that, Connor’s already kneeling in front of the door, getting to work on the lock.  “Jesus, Connor, right now?” Hank hisses, looking around shiftily.

“Yes, right now,” Connor says.  “Obviously.” And with that, the door swings open.  Connor grins and quickly moves to stop a cat from darting out the door, scooping it up and cradling it against his chest.  

“You wait out here, Hank, keep watch.  It’ll only take me a few minutes to figure out if he’s our guy or not.”  Before Hank can protest, Connor slips into the apartment, holding the cat like a baby, leaving Hank cursing and trying to find a natural way to lurk outside his coworker's apartment.  He shoves his hands into his pockets, leaning against the wall and trying to look nonchalant.

A frown graces his face when he thinks back to the interaction between Connor and Gavin.  Connor seemed… smug, like he knew something, like he had some kind of insight into the situation that Hank was unaware of.  Which wouldn’t surprise him, if he’s being honest, since his boyfriend is… almost unnaturally intelligent.

Hank’s lost in thought when Connor reemerges, sans cat.  “Well, we can cross him off our list,” he tells Hank with certainty.

“Yeah?” Hank asks, leaning close to him as they make their way back down the stairs.  Connor nods.

“He didn’t even have a password on his computer.  Idiot.” That makes Hank laugh.

“I absolutely agree with you there.  He’s a fuckin’ moron.” The two of them stop halfway down the stairs, Connor standing a step above Hank.  Hank grins, looking up at Connor for once. “Find anything interesting? Anything I can use against him?”

Connor hums, tracing his fingers over Hank’s jaw.  “Just… so much porn,” he says, looking genuinely troubled.  But then his face splits into a grin. “It was… ridiculous.”

Hank snorts, resting a hand on Connor’s waist.  “He into some freaky shit, or what?”

Connor chews his lip, contemplating his answer.  “No, not anything surprising,” he finally concludes.

Hank raises an eyebrow.  “Did you… have expectations going into this?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Connor tells him immediately.  “Let's just say… I think that video I took of you would fit right in with his collection.”

Hank sputters, going red and looking around to make sure they’re still alone.  “What are you talking about?” he hisses. Connor looks exasperated.

“You really don’t get it, do you?” he murmurs, leaning down and kissing him.

_What don’t I get?_ Hank thinks, but he’s quickly distracted by Connor’s mouth.  He can’t even be bothered by the fact that they are standing in the dingy stairwell out in the open when he feels Connor smiling against his lips, his hand cupping his cheek.

When they part, Hank nuzzles his face into Connor’s touch.  “Tell me what the fuck you’re talking about,” he mutters.

Connor giggles, fingers scratching lightly at Hank’s beard.  “Gavin’s jealous.” Hank’s eyes snap open, brows furrowing.

“Of me?  Well, who wouldn’t be, with a hot piece of ass like you on my arm?  I saw him trying flirt with you.”

“Oh my god,” Connor groans, shaking his head.  “He’s jealous of _me,_ Hank.  He has a crush on you.”

Hank’s brain stops working at those words, refusing to process them.  He sputters, opening and closing his mouth several times, looking for the right response.  He finally settles on, “what the fuck, Connor.”

Connor rolls his eyes.  “It’s… really incredibly obvious.  It’s kind of embarrassing that you didn’t notice.   _Lieutenant_.”  Hank exhales.  Hearing Connor randomly bust out his official title is… definitely not a bad thing.  Even when he's using it to mock him.

“You’ve got quite the mouth on you, Connor,” he murmurs lowly, grabbing his hips.  Connor squeaks, but recovers quickly and gives him a borderline sinful look.

“Maybe you should… put it to better use,” he breathes.  “Teach me a lesson.”

Hank groans, hands slipping under the bottom of Connor’s shirt.  “You’re terrible.”

Connor hums, not disagreeing.  “But I meant what I said. Gavin has a huge, stupidly obvious crush on you.”  When Hank doesn’t respond, Connor continues. “He’s probably so fucking repressed that he doesn’t really know how to express it, hence the aggression.”

Hank scoffs.  “There is no possible way-”

Connor puts a finger to his lips.  “Trust me on this one. If I put your hair in pigtails he would literally pull them.”  Hank wants to argue, but Connor seems so sure of himself. Connor traces his lips gently, distracting him.  “Is it really so hard for you to believe someone would find you desirable?”

Hank sucks playfully at the tips of his fingers, making Connor gasp.  Hank grins, and Connor slides his fingers further into his mouth, entranced by the sight.  Hank runs his tongue over them with a hum, overselling it just a little bit before pulling back.  “We’re losin’ focus here, babe.”

Connor sighs.  “You’re right. Just like I’m right about Gavin.  He wants to call you daddy. Just doing it today mockingly probably thrilled him.  He’d love that video of you sucking my cock,” he tells Hank with a completely serious face, and Hank chokes on nothing.

“Jesus, Connor…” he groans, and Connor’s serious face gives way to a grin.

“I’m laughing, but I _do_ mean it.  He probably only hit on me to get a reaction out of you.”

Hank pinches the bridge of his nose.  “I’m never going to be in the same room with him again without thinking about this.  You’re awful. Even though I still think you’re full of shit.”

Connor smirks, but gives him a shrug and grabs his hand, leading him back down the stairs.  “Just think about it. I’m sure you’ll come to the same conclusion.” Hank rolls his eyes, changing the subject.

“Where are we goin’ now?” he asks, letting Connor lead the way.

“Well,” Connor starts, swinging their joined hands back and forth, “I was thinking maybe we could check out the basement.  Everyone’s got stuff stored down there, right?”

“Uh, yeah, I think so?” Hank answers.

“I can’t stop thinking about those girls that live across from us,” Connor tells him.  “Where are they? How come I’ve never seen them?”

“Uh-huh…” Hank urges him on.

“So… I thought maybe we could kinda… see if they have anything down there.  If not, then we can probably assume they moved and we just missed it. But if they have things there…”

Hank gets where he’s going with this.  “You wanna snoop through their stuff.”

Connor laughs.  “Essentially, yes.”

Hank rolls his eyes as they descend into the basement.  “Sure. More crime. Why not?”


	37. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> previously: _“So… I thought maybe we could kinda… see if they have anything down there. If not, then we can probably assume they moved and we just missed it. But if they have things there…”_
> 
> _Hank gets where he’s going with this. “You wanna snoop through their stuff.”_
> 
> _Connor laughs. “Essentially, yes.”_
> 
> _Hank rolls his eyes as they descend into the basement. “Sure. More crime. Why not?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gettin spooky

The basement in Hank’s apartment building has definitely seen better days.  If the rest of the building is bad, the basement is awful. It’s in even more of a state of disrepair than the rest of the place, plaster walls cracking, water damage, dust… a cement floor so cold that Hank feels it through the thick soles of his boots.

A single, bare flickering light bulb hangs from the ceiling, doing a poor job of illuminating the area.  The shadows stretch and distort. It’s easy for the mind to play tricks down here in the dark. Piles and boxes of the tenants’ things take up most of the floor space, divided off roughly into separate areas for each apartment.

Connor takes it all in, nose wrinkled adorably.  “This is… unpleasant,” he tells Hank, eyes scanning the room, looking for the Eden's pile.

Hank laughs.  “You’re tellin’ me, babe.  I don’t keep much down here, honestly.”

Connor gives him a look.  “Yes, clearly, I’ve seen all the shit you have in the spare room.”

Hank pretends to be offended and fails miserably.  “Hey, what can I say,” he supplies, shrugging. “It’s a _tiny_ bit nicer in our apartment and I’m fuckin’ lazy.  I’m not haulin’ shit down these stairs.”

Connor nods distractedly, zeroing in on the smallest pile of things.  “Look at this, Hank,” he says, making his way over. A wireframe dress mannequin stands out amongst the small collection, displaying a wedding dress that’s past its prime.  Connor runs his fingers over it curiously. “Who would just... leave this down here unprotected? If it meant enough to someone to keep, surely they’d take precautions against damage?”

Hank shrugs, standing beside Connor.  The dress makes him feel… strange. It’s unsettling, certainly, standing like a ghost in the middle of the dimly lit basement.  But it also makes him think about Connor, as most things tend to do lately. Mainly, about how he’ll never get a chance to marry him.   _Jesus, Hank, it’s been two months, it’s way too soon to think about marriage regardless,_ he tells himself, but that doesn’t stop him from reaching out and taking Connor’s hand.

His partner glances at him out of the corner of his eye, intertwining their fingers.  Hank wonders if they’re thinking the same thing. They stand in silence for a few moments, transfixed by the dress, before Connor squeezes his hand.

“I would have wanted that with you, Hank,” he says quietly.  Hank inhales sharply. “I mean, not _that_ exactly,” he clarifies, gesturing towards the dress, “but… you know.  I hope that’s not strange to say.”

Hank squeezes his hand in return.  “Not at all, sweetheart,” he murmurs.  A melancholy mood hangs over them, and Hank tries to lighten it.  “But hey, we started this whole ordeal married, didn’t we? Doing things out of order is kinda our specialty.”

That gets a reluctant smile and an eye roll from Connor.  “I’ll never live that down, will I?”

“No, especially since you weren’t a very convincing Mr. Anderson, running off and leaving me at the hospital the second you could,” Hank teases.

“I didn’t want them to start asking me questions!” Connor defends himself as they separate and continue looking through the basement.  Hank’s smiling despite himself when something behind the mannequin catches his eye.

A large, old looking sign leans against the wall.  Hank moves in for a closer look.  The sign reads ‘Quiet Haven Hotel’, and Hank frowns.   _Never heard of it.  And what the fuck is it doing here?_ he thinks.  As he shifts the sign to examine it more, he notices something else odd.

While most of the basement is old and run down, the wall behind the sign looks… almost new.  Fresh. The bricks are certainly brighter than the rest of the dingy room, and no dust has gathered on them.  Curiously, he kicks at it with his boot, but nothing happens. It seems solid, at any rate. Maybe the wall was just in such bad shape the building owner had no choice but to do some damage control.  Still…

“Hank, I think I might have found something,” Connor’s voice breaks him out of his musing, and he wanders back over to his partner, who’s still poking through the few items that surround the dress.  In his hand, Connor holds a slip of paper that he found stuffed inside a book.

“It’s a letter from a Doctor Zivon Andronikov,” Connor starts, and Hank isn’t sure he heard him correctly.

“Did you say Andronikov?” he asks, perturbed.  Connor nods. Hank runs a hand through his hair.  “That was the name of the doctor that… killed me. But he was called something else.  Zlatko, I think.”

Connor’s eyes go wide.  “It’s not exactly a common name, I don’t think it’s a coincidence.  Brothers, maybe?” Hank’s got an uneasy feeling. He knows that Connor is onto something.  He urges him to continue.

“Anyway,” Connor says, getting back to the letter, “it seems that he is Traci with an I’s psychiatrist.”  Hank raises his eyebrows at that.

“So she’s just as fucked up as me, huh?” he mutters.  “Never woulda thought.”

Connor shoots him a concerned look, but Hank quickly waves it off.  “Sorry, sorry…” he says. “Self-deprecating humor and all that. Go on.”

Connor chooses to let his remark go for now.  “Well, I certainly hope that this Zivon is a better doctor than his brother,” he continues.  “But at the time of this letter, she hadn’t been to her last months worth of appointments. And the letter is dated right around the time I moved in.”

“That’s… not good,” Hank replies.

“Not at all…” Connor murmurs, thinking.  “It’s very troublesome to think she’s been missing appointments for about the same amount of time that I’ve lived here.  And we haven’t seen either of them in that time.” Connor pockets the letter, unsure of what conclusion he’s trying to draw.  

They’re drawn out of their reveries by a loud noise from the old coal chute on the far wall.  Hank frowns. “That thing shouldn’t be in use anymore,” he tells Connor. That bit of information has Connor making his way over in a flash to investigate.  “Shit, careful Connor…” he hisses, following him quickly.

Connor’s examining the little metal hatch curiously, head tilted to the side.  “What do you think it was?”

“I don’t know, Con…” Hank says uneasily.  The eerie atmosphere of the basement makes everything seem much more sinister.

“Only one way to find out, then,” says Connor, and before Hank can stop him he’s grabbed the handle, wrenching the coal chute open with a loud screech.  It’s obvious right away that it hasn’t been used for years, the metal nearly rusted shut. Black coal dust coats everything, except…

“Hank, look,” Connor breathes, confused.  “It looks just like Sumo.”

He’s right, of course.  Sitting on the bottom of the metal chute is a small porcelain figurine in the shape of a St. Bernard dog.  It’s in pristine condition, completely clean. “What’s it doing here?” Hank asks nervously. “How the fuck did it even… get in there?”

Connor reaches for it, as if in a trance.  “Babe, maybe you shouldn’t-” Hank starts.

Before he can finish the warning, Connor’s hands close around it and he lifts it up, examining it with a small frown.  “Hank, it…” Suddenly he cuts off with a small yelp, dropping it to the ground. The statue shatters into a million pieces, and Hank’s at Connor’s side in an instant.

“Shit, what happened, are you okay?” Hank asks, worried.

“It… it got so hot…” Connor says faintly.  He holds out his hands to Hank, who swears when he sees the angry red burns they’re covered in.  

“What the fuck?” he mutters, holding Connor’s hand’s, palms up, on top of his own.  As they watch, the burns fade away, and within seconds it’s like they were never there at all.

“Jesus…” Hank mutters, kissing one of Connor’s palms gently.  “Are you alright?” he asks again, thumbs rubbing circles on his hands in an attempt to soothe.

“Yes, I’m… I’m fine…” Connor says faintly, still looking confused.

“We should go,” Hank decides, wrapping an arm around Connor’s shoulders.  Connor leans into him, nodding dazedly.

“Yeah, okay…” But as Hank starts to lead him back towards the stairs, Connor pauses.

“What-” Hank begins to ask before Connor shushes him and kneels down to examine the wreckage the statue left behind.  He reaches forward cautiously, pushing aside a few shards of porcelain and pulls something from the debris. He turns to show it to Hank, looking dumbstruck. Hank’s jaw drops.

Dangling from Connor’s slim fingers is a keyring that holds a single key and a metal tag.  The tag reads ‘Apartment #1’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i literally just looked up 'russian names' and picked one that started w z that character isnt important until the second game and idek how much im going to get into that in the future so. there's that.


	38. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> previously: _“What-” Hank begins to ask before Connor shushes him and kneels down to examine the wreckage the statue left behind. He reaches forward cautiously, pushing aside a few shards of porcelain and pulls something from the debris. He turns to show it to Hank, looking dumbstruck. Hank’s jaw drops._
> 
> _Dangling from Connor’s slim fingers is a keyring that holds a single key and a metal tag. The tag reads ‘Apartment #1’._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HORF ok some more spooky stuff???? and just a general.......... idk disclaimer or something maybe? a character in this chapter is meant to be schizophrenic and in the games its never rly made clear how much is Actually happening and how much is a part of their illness which is kinda Zoinks to me but i just want it to be clear that Hank's experiencing it too so its. For Real and not just some ~ooo mental illness scary!~ thing.

“Connor, I don’t know if this is a good idea…” Hank’s voice trails off as Connor nearly drags him back up the basement stairs.  “It’s a little too convenient, don’t you think?”

“Well, obviously, Hank,” Connor tells him, tugging on his arm.  “But what else are we meant to do? We can’t just ignore it.”

They’re standing outside the door to the Eden’s apartment now, and Hank doesn’t have a good feeling about what they’ll find inside.

Hank sighs, relenting.  “Fine. But you stay behind me.  If any dangerous shit goes down, I want you out of there as soon as fuckin’ possible.  Don’t worry about me.” He can see Connor’s about to protest, so he stops him with a hand over his mouth.  “I can’t die, remember? I gotta keep you safe.”

Connor’s face softens, and Hank removes his hand to let him speak.  “Technically, you _can_ die, you just keep coming back-” Hank moves to silence him again, and Connor ducks out of his reach, giggling.  “Okay, Hank, I got it, you take the lead.”

Hank nods, and Connor relinquishes his hold on the key, letting Hank unlock the door.  The overly complicated lock clicks open, and Hank cautiously turns the knob. He motions for Connor to stay back as he enters the apartment, looking for signs of danger.

The entryway is dark but abandoned.  “Hello?” Hank calls out, uncertain. After a moment with no response, he reluctantly motions Connor inside.  “Come on, seems like the place is empty.”

Connor shuts the door behind them, and Hank immediately links their hands together, not about to let Connor out of his sight.  The other man humors him, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.  “Don’t worry, Hank. I’ll stay close.”

“Please do,” Hank mutters.  “This place gives me the creeps.”  The two of them proceed slowly towards the living room.  It’s fully furnished, although a bit outdated. An old fashioned phone sits on one of the beat up armchairs inside the door, across from an ancient looking television.  A small dining table is set for two, food still on the plates, like someone made a meal but barely touched it.  Flies surround the food, though, and Hank can tell it’s been there for a while. “Seems abandoned. But it doesn’t look like they’ve moved out…” Hank observes.  “Or if they did, they left all their shit behind.”

Connor looks around, nodding.  “Hopefully they left a computer here, too.  We might be able to rule them out that way.”  The two of them venture cautiously towards the bedroom, eyes peeled for anything suspicious.  Outside the bedroom door, a dress mannequin sits, unadorned.  Its wires are bent, but it looks like a match to the one downstairs.  Hank wonders which one of them does the sewing as the enter the next room.

The bedroom is strange, first and foremost because it doesn’t actually contain a bed.  A bare coat rack rests beside the doorway. Across the room sits an ornate vanity, it’s large mirror shattered.  The door to the closet (or the bathroom?  Hank isn’t sure) has no doorknob. ‘666’ is scrawled messily across it, in black paint.  “Connor, we gotta go, I don’t like this at all…” Hank tells him, but Connor has gotten distracted by the only other piece of furniture in the room.  A chest of drawers. And on top of the drawers…

“A laptop!” Connor breathes, excited.  He tries to pull his hand from Hank’s grasp and examine it, but Hank holds fast.

“Don’t,” he pleads.  “Stay near me.” Connor nods, apologetic, and the two of them head over toward the computer.

“Make it fast, please,” Hank says, uneasy, reluctantly letting go of Connor’s hand so he can do his thing.

“Of course,” Connor assures him, pressing the power button.  His face falls when nothing happens. “Shit, did you see a power cord anywhere?”

Hank groans.  “No.” Of course, this couldn’t be easy.  

Connor examines the laptop and then shoots Hank a grin.  “I think my cord should be compatible with it. I’ll just run over to our place and get it real quick.”

Hank _really_ doesn’t want to spend any more time in this creepy apartment.  “Can’t we just take it with us?”

Connor frowns.  “What if they come home and find it missing?”

“What if they come home and find us _in their apartment?_ ” Hank counters.

“In the time we’ve spent discussing this, I could have already gotten the cord and been done.  Just wait here, I’ll only be a minute.”

Hank bites his lip and hands Connor the key to their apartment, feeling like he’s making a mistake the entire time.  “You better only be a minute. If you take even a second longer, I’m coming after you and we are leaving this place behind.”

“I promise, we’ll be done before you know it,” Connor assures him, standing on his toes to kiss him.  “While I’m gone, think of a vegetable.”

“...What?” Hank asks, totally lost.  “Why?”

“It’ll keep you occupied.  You won’t even miss me. And I bet I’ll be able to guess it when I get back.”

“You’re fuckin’ ridiculous, Connor,” Hank mutters, smiling despite himself.

Connor grins, kissing him again before hurrying out of the room.  “A vegetable, Hank!” he calls over his shoulder. Hank shakes his head in disbelief.  Connor’s footsteps fade until he hears the front door open and shut behind him, and then Hank is alone in the silence.

He glances around uneasily, eyes continually drawn to the ‘666’ door.   _What the fuck… a fuckin’ vegetable… fine.  A carrot. Let’s see if that smartass gets it right_ , he thinks, ears straining to pick up the sound of his partner returning.  Nothing. And then…

_Ring.  Ring._  Hank freezes, the sound of the phone from the other room filling him with dread.   _It has to have been more than a minute_ , he tells himself, deciding to see what’s keeping Connor.  He leaves the bedroom, having no choice but to pass by the ringing phone on his way out.  For some reason, it makes him uneasy. _Who the fuck even has a landline anymore?_

The second he reaches it, however, the ringing abruptly cuts off.   _Just go,_ he tells himself.   _Fuck it._  And yet, he somehow finds himself kneeling to examine the phone instead, his heart skipping a beat when he sees the cord is ripped from the wall and the phone doesn’t have any sort of power supply.

_Shit,_ he thinks.   _Must have been my imagination…_ He can’t actually convince himself of that, though.   _I gotta get outta here_.  As he turns to leave, the tv flickers on with a sound like a gunshot, blood and static flashing across its surface for a moment before it goes blank again.

“Fuck this,” Hank says out loud, hurrying towards the front door.  He’s exasperated, but not entirely surprised, when the doorknob completely detaches in his hand, making it impossible to open it from the inside.  “Fuck!” he growls. He presses his face close to the door, shouting for Connor.

“Babe, open the door!  I can’t get out.” No response.  “Connor!” he tries again, starting to panic.  “Connor, where the fuck are you?”

Unsure of what else to do, he stomps back towards the bedroom to wait for Connor to return.   _If he ever returns,_ his brain taunts him.  The ‘666’ door catches his attention again, and he glances down at his hand, noticing he’s still holding the broken doorknob.   _Oh my god, you idiot…_ he’s screaming at himself even as he shoves the knob into the empty space, using it to pull the door open.

The hinges squeak loudly, and he finds himself standing in the doorway to a dilapidated bathroom.  The lights flicker on and off at random, and he’s able to observe the interior with dread filling his stomach.  The bathtub is overflowing, and standing in the water is a mannequin, much more human looking than the other ones they’ve seen today.  Hank swears as he feels water seep into his boots.

The lights flicker off, and Hank sees… _something_ crouched over by the toilet.  It’s human-shaped, but it doesn’t seem solid.  It’s hard to make out in the dark, but it looks like a thin, pale woman in a white dress with short, reddish-brown hair.   _Tracy with a Y?_ Hank thinks.  It shudders, distorting, completely insubstantial.  Its presence fills Hank with fear, and yet, as the lights flicker back on and it vanishes, he feels that fear multiply.

Backing slowly out of the bathroom, relief floods through him when he hears the front door swing open.   _Oh, Connor, thank fuck…_  The approaching footsteps, however, are not familiar.  Lighter and faster than Connor’s. In a panic, Hank looks for somewhere to hide, but the barren bedroom offers him nothing.

“What the fuck?” an angry voice behind him erupts, and he turns, coming face to face with the blue-haired half of the couple.  “You’re not supposed to be here!” she accuses.

Traci looks… bad.  Dark circles paint the skin under her eyes like bruises.  Her cheekbones are sunken like she hasn’t been eating properly, and her eyes look unfocused.  Her hair is greasy and wild, the dark roots incredibly obvious.

“Listen, Traci…” Hank starts, but she covers her face with her hands, shaking.

“Why…” she whispers.  Hank isn’t sure how to respond, and she continues.  “Why did you have to ruin _everything_ ?  What have you _done_ you stupid… evil… man…”

“Traci, I’m sorry, the door was open… I thought you’d moved out...” Hank tries, hoping to talk his way out of this.  Something in her eyes shifts.

“Who are you?” she asks, and Hank’s startled by the change in the conversation.  “You took her away, didn’t you?” she accuses, stalking towards him. “What did she _ever_ do to you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”  Hank says, backing away. “I was just… looking for my dog.  He got out!”

Traci’s eyes narrow.  “Oh, I see,” she says sarcastically.  “Your fucking dog. I’m actually looking for him too, did you know?  He just ran off with my key.”

Hank thinks they’re having two different conversations, but then he thinks back to the tiny Sumo statue that they found this key in.  “I’m gonna rip him to pieces,” Traci tells him casually, and Hank backs away further.

“My boyfriend knows I’m here,” Hank tries.  “And I’m a lieutenant with the Detroit Police.  He’ll call them.”

Traci smiles, and replies in a sing-song voice, “well, I’ve got a gun.  I can shoot you right here, right in your heart, and your boyfriend too, if he comes looking for you.”

“Jesus, Traci, it’s not worth it-”

“But you haven’t got a heart, have you?” Traci interrupts.  Hank’s head is spinning.

“Listen, I’ll just… leave, okay?” he tries to placate her, backing away slowly.  He crosses the living room, but Traci keeps up with him, step for step.

“Connor!” Hank calls out, finally backed up against the front door.  “I could use a little help here!”

Traci’s eyes meet his, and she suddenly looks sad.  “I tried calling for help, too,” she tells him. “No one ever comes through here.”  Her expression shifts back into something sinister and her voice lowers to a whisper.  “Nobody but the devil.”

A chill runs down Hank’s spine, just as the door behind him swings open.  “Oh, thank fuck-” he starts, but as he stumbles backward, it’s not the hallway outside his apartment that he lands in.  It’s nothing but a black abyss. He can’t catch his balance, and with a startled gasp he falls into nothing.

* * *

 

Hank feels like he falls forever, down into the endless darkness.  And then, suddenly, it’s over. He lands with a thud on his back, in the middle of a derelict room, four wooden doors the only things of note.  Scrawled above each door in what appears to be blood are four words. _came. through.  HERE. DEVIL._

Hank stares at the doors in confusion, pulling the first one open.  It opens to a brick wall before violently slamming shut on its own accord.  Hank leaps back with a start, heart pounding. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself.   _Think, Hank,_ he admonishes.   _What was it that Traci said?_

_Nobody ever comes through here.  Nobody but the devil._

The words echo chillingly in his head, but they give him an idea.  He walks over to the last door, the one with _DEVIL_ scrawled above it, and cautiously pulls it open.  When it doesn’t slam shut, he nods to himself in satisfaction before moving back to the first one.   _came._  This time the door stays propped open.   The door beside it is next on his list.   _through._  Sure enough, behind it is a brick wall, and it stays wide open.

Only one door left now.   _HERE._  Hank takes a deep breath and slowly opens it.   _Devil came through here,_ he thinks, a shiver running down his spine.  The doorway opens to darkness, just as the other three slam shut.  Nervously, Hank steps through.

* * *

He finds himself in a strange looking room with a gaping hole in the brick wall.  Outside, a storm rages. The center of the room is taken up by a large bed, covered in fancy pillows.  There are several bookcases stuffed with books, a table, and two chairs. The walls and some of the furniture is adorned with bloody handprints.  And standing in the middle of the room, looking much better than when he last saw her, is Traci.

“Come in, come in!” she greets him warmly, motioning him over.  “No need to be afraid, I don’t bite!”

_Yeah, sure,_ Hank thinks as he cautiously makes his way towards her.   _Just threaten to shoot me and my boyfriend.  And kill our dog. No big deal._

“Come on, silly, I could use your help with something!”

Hank raises an eyebrow.  “You need my _help_?” he asks, incredulous.  “I thought you wanted to kill me?”

Traci’s eyes widen innocently.  “Kill _you?”_ she asks, strange emphasis on the second word.  “No, no, you must be mistaken. Why would I want to kill _you?_ Who do you think I am?”

Hank decides to roll with it, sure that Traci not wanting to kill him anymore has to be a good thing.  “Sorry,” he tells her slowly. “I must have… gotten the wrong idea.”

Traci’s all smiles again.  “It’s okay, it happens to me all the time,” she assures him.  “I’ve been known to be a bit… hmm… intimidating, I guess?” She bites her lip in contemplation.  “But I’m not a violent person!”

“Okay…” Hank replies.  “Good to know…”

“Well,” Traci quickly amends, “I’ll use violence if I _have_ to, if I’m pushed against the wall.  Do you know what I mean?”

Hank knows what she means all too well, a thought that he voices to her honestly.  But he’s not here to shoot the shit. “Where the hell are we, anyway?”

Traci frowns, uncertain.  “I can’t really remember the name of this town,” she tells him, looking unsettled.  But then she perks up again. “But I’m pretty sure the hotel is called Quiet Haven!”

Hank looks around at the general state of disrepair and is skeptical.  “ _This_ is a hotel?” he asks her in disbelief.

Traci nods, laughing.  “I know, it’s a joke!” she agrees.  “They shouldn’t be allowed to charge even half the price for this dump if you ask me.”

Hank scratches his head.  He’s fairly certain he didn’t die, and yet this room has a dreamlike quality to it that resembles the afterlife.

“Listen, Traci,” he starts, unsettled, “this place… this is all just a dream, right?”

Traci’s eyebrows furrow in confusion.  “You know, it’s funny you would ask that,” she tells him.  “Someone else just asked me that, not too long ago.” She wraps her arms around herself, an empty comfort.  “But if this is a dream… then I’ve been asleep for a very long time.”

They’re silent for a moment, unsure of what to say.  Finally, Hank speaks up. “Okay, well, that’s… something.  But I just wanna get out of here. My boyfriend-”

“I understand,” Traci assures him, cutting him off.  “I wouldn’t stay here myself if it was _my_ decision.  You see… my wife, Tracy, is in the room to the left.  She’s a bit… fragile, right now. She said… she said she was going to do her makeup.  But… that was over a week ago. Maybe even longer. I don’t know, time moves so strangely…”

Hank can definitely relate to that sentiment.

“Every time I try to talk to her… she gets mad.  Tells me she’s not done yet,” Traci continues, looking distressed.  “I make her food, but she won’t eat it… she never wants what I make…”

“Yeah, okay,” Hank tries his best not to sound impatient, “I’m sorry about your girl, but what does that have to do with me?”

“If you talk to her, I’ll show you how to get out of here!” Traci tells him eagerly.  “Just.. go in there and tell her she looks pretty. Maybe she’ll listen to you!”

Hank exhales.  “Yeah, shit, okay… worth a try, I guess…” he mutters.  And he really doesn’t have many other options.

Hank enters the room to the left with trepidation, unsure what he’s about to encounter.  The wall on the opposite side of the room is covered with ornate mirrors, and an armchair is parked in front of them.  They seem to be tilted at a strange angle, not capturing the reflection of the thin, wraith-like woman sitting bonelessly in the armchair.  Hank can only see the back of her head, but the short auburn hair makes him fairly certain that this is, in fact, Tracy. Her neck is bent at an awkward angle, almost grotesquely so.

An abandoned vanity sits against the right wall.  It seems like she has given up on her makeup. The wall closest to Hank has some sort of switch on it, but when Hank flicks it, nothing happens. The switch appears to be loose.

Hank takes a few nervous steps forward.  “Tracy…?” he asks quietly. He gets no reply for a few moments, and then suddenly the woman starts thrashing violently back and forth, startling Hank.  Her voice is awful, a thin, rasping growl. Hank feels goosebumps erupt all over his skin.

“MIZZZZ… ERRRR… EEEE…” she forces out.  Hank’s heart is pounding.

“M-misery?  Is that what you said?” he questions as her body stills.  Another beat of silence, and then she starts shaking again.

“ ** _MISERY_ ** **_!”_ **she shrieks, her voice downright chilling, sounding like it’s distorted by static.  Horrified, Hank backs out of the room, turning to look at the other Traci with wide eyes.

“What… what is that?” he asks, making the woman frown.

“What do you mean?  That’s my wife.”

Hank can tell arguing will be pointless, so he asks her another question.  “You said she’s been in there for a week?”

Traci shrugs.  “I think so. Possibly a month.  I’m not sure, I told you-”

“Yeah, yeah,” Hank interrupts.  “Time’s all fucked up, I know. But that’s an awful long time to spend in one place.”

“She wants to look good!” Traci defends.  “Even though she always looks beautiful to me…”  Hank feels for her, he can tell she really loves her wife.  But something's gone terribly wrong. “I wanted to give her the time she needs, but we really need to get going.  A storm is coming. I can feel it.” Hank’s not sure what to say after that chilling proclamation.

“Right…” he murmurs uncertainly.  “She said… misery. Does that mean anything to you?”

Traci sighs dreamily.  “Oh, she loves that book.  Look…” she grabs Hank’s hand, leading him towards one of the bookcases.  She hums, looking over the titles, before running a finger over the spine of a tattered old book, pulling it off the shelf.  The word ‘misery’ is written in a sinister looking script, the only thing present on the cover. No author, no picture, no hint about what could be written within.

Hank carefully takes it from her, flipping it open slowly.  The spine cracks and the book’s content is revealed. It’s been hollowed out, and a screwdriver rests between the pages.  Hank frowns, removing it from its hiding spot, showing it to Traci with confusion. The woman looks just as confused. She takes the empty book from him and replaces it on the shelf.

Hank makes his way back into the other room, and the switch on the wall catches his eye.  He takes the screwdriver and uses it to tighten the screws around the switch. Satisfied with his handiwork, he flips the switch again.  The mirrors on the wall start shifting, and Hank watches in horror as Tracy’s reflection is revealed.

Instead of the kind face Hank can recall from previous encounters with the woman, a grinning skull looks back at him, stringy hair clinging to the remaining bits of flesh on her scalp.  The mouth slowly falls open, gaping, and then the skull starts _laughing_.  The sound cuts through Hank like fingernails on a blackboard.  He flinches, backing away, and runs into someone standing behind him.

Traci is frozen, transfixed by the giggling skull, a hand held to her mouth in disbelief.  “No…” she whispers. “No, no, NO!” she cries, voice rising steadily. “This isn’t Tracy! This isn’t my wife!”  Hank hovers beside her uncertainly, but she’s not finished. “This… this is the monster!” she shouts, gesturing wildly towards the mirrors.  “It followed me here. It always follows me. No matter where I go…”

“Traci, I’m sorry, but-”

“You have to kill it,” she tells him decisively.

Hank’s mouth falls open and he gapes stupidly at Traci for a moment, before shaking his head.  “Hell no,” he tells her. “Why me, anyway?”

“You still have that screwdriver.  Stab it into her neck. Kill it so it _never_ follows me anywhere ever again.”  She appears to be unmovable, staring at Hank, a demanding look in her eyes.  But Hank can’t do it. He’s killed enough people recently, the last thing he wants to do is kill someone… or something… that hasn’t provoked him.

“No,” he tells her, setting his jaw.  “I won’t do it.”

Traci hisses angrily.  “If you don’t do it, I’ll shoot you right now.  You need to end this.”

Hank shakes his head.  “Then you’re gonna have to fuckin’ kill me, cause I’m not doin’ it.”

Traci exhales angrily, pulling a gun from her pocket.  She aims it steadily at him, pointed right at his heart.  The heart she threatened to shoot earlier. The one she said he didn’t have.

Hank closes his eyes, and the only thing he can hear is Traci’s labored breathing and the eerie cackling of the skull.  The moment seems to stretch out, and then the gun fires loudly, striking Hank right in the chest.

* * *

“Hank?  Hank! Darling?”

Hank opens his eyes, breathing heavily, and finds himself back in the Eden’s bedroom, Connor standing in front of him and looking terrified.

“Connor?” he asks weakly, trembling hands reaching up to cradle his face.  The feeling of his warm skin against his palms and slowly brings him back to earth.

“Hank, what happened?” Connor asks, resting his own hands on top of Hank’s.  “You were just standing there like you couldn’t see me… or hear me…”

Hank leans in and kisses him, long and slow.  He’s so glad to be back, so glad he’s with Connor and that they’re both okay.  Thinking about those two girls, and what they’re going through…

He pushes those thoughts from his mind, and pushes his tongue into Connor’s mouth, pulling a pleased noise from his lover.  He’s pretty sure he will never tire of kissing the other man. Connor tries to pull back, undoubtedly wanting an explanation, but Hank catches his lower lip between his teeth, making him whimper.  He tugs gently but then releases him, knowing he owes him some answers.

Connor’s flushed but determined.  “What happened? How did you manage to get into something when I was gone for less than a minute?”

“A minute?” Hank asks, shocked.  He knows he should have been expecting this, but the time disparities still leave him disoriented.  “It felt… so much longer than that.” Connor gives him a sympathetic smile, stroking his cheek gently.

“What happened?” the smaller man repeats softly.

Hank sighs, leaning into his touch.  “I don’t know. I saw some really weird shit.  I went… somewhere else. But I wasn’t dead this time.  I couldn’t have been. Both of the Edens were there, too.  But… they weren’t themselves. I don’t understand… Con, what if I’m going crazy?”

Connor shakes his head.  “You’re not crazy, Hank. We know something strange is going on, and whatever you experienced while I was gone is all part of that.”  Connor’s absolute faith in him still blows his mind. He gives Connor a soft smile.

“I love you, baby,” he murmurs, brushing his lips over Connor’s chastely.  

Connor sighs contently, eyes fluttering closed.  “And I love you, Hank,” he replies, a smile gracing his lips.  After a moment, his eyes blink open, and he carefully pulls away from Hank.  “But let's check out her computer quickly, I’ve got my power cord right here.”

Hank nods, watching Connor plug in the laptop and bypass the computer’s password requirements.  “Hey, Con?” he asks idly, watching Connor’s elegant fingers fly over the keys. Connor hums distractedly, only half listening, but Hank continues.  “How do you know how to do all this computer stuff?”

“You know I used to work with computers, Hank,” Connor tuts.

“Yeah, and all this Mr. Robot shit just comes with the territory?” Hank asks, unconvinced.

Connor just gets back to work with a pleased smile on his face.  “Maybe,” he tells Hank with a wink before quickly browsing through the laptop, looking for any sign of Elijah.  He comes up empty. Hank can’t say he’s surprised.

Connor powers down the computer, placing it carefully back on top of the dresser, taking his power cord.  “Well, I guess we can cross them off the list.”

Hank nods, grabbing Connor’s hand and starting for the front door.  “Let's get out of here,” he urges. “Traci could come back at any minute.  And I don’t think you wanna meet her.”

Connor nods and follows Hank, pausing by the front door.  Hank turns to look at him, ready to ask him why he’s not moving.  But Connor asks him a question first.

“Did you think of a vegetable?”

Hank’s eyes narrow in confusion for a second before he remembers what Conor’s referring to. It feels so long ago.

“Oh, right,” he says with a small smile.  “Yeah, I did.”

Connor smiles.  “Good! Was it…” he pauses, trying to draw out the suspense, making Hank roll his eyes.  “A carrot?”

Hank’s surprised and gives Connor a mildly impressed look.  “Yeah. How’d you know that?”

Connor grins, pleased with himself.  “I can’t tell you, then it wouldn’t be a good magic trick.”

Hank rolls his eyes.  “Okay, whatever, don’t let it go to your head,” he teases.

Connor schools his face into a serious expression.  “Never,” he tells Hank solemnly, before grinning again.  “I just wanted to let you know that I’m the best.”

Hank can’t argue with that, but he plays along.  “You know, I was actually thinking about celery. I just said carrot to make you feel better.  But now…”

Connor laughs and pulls Hank towards the door.  “Whatever, Hank,” he says, then squeaks when Hank gives his ass a playful smack on their way out of the apartment.  Hank snorts, closing the door behind them. When he turns to face Connor, the other man is looking at him, biting his bottom lip, flushed just a tiny bit.  It takes Hank a second, but then…

“Oh,” Hank breathes, smirking.  “Do you like that?” Connor’s eyes dart away, and Hank’s smirk widens.  He loves discovering new things that Connor enjoys. He's already got an image forming in his mind… Connor, over his lap, ass bare and red from where his hand struck it… He grabs Connor by the hips, pulling him close.  “I’ll keep that in mind,” he growls lowly by his ear.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Connor murmurs, the small grin on his face betraying his statement.  Hank chuckles warmly, once again unable to believe he gets to call Connor his partner.

“You’re something else, Connor,” he says, kissing his temple.  Connor nuzzles his face into Hank’s neck, hiding his wide grin, and the two of them take a moment to just enjoy each other before continuing their investigation.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote this before i knew these gals actually had names and them both being named traci is already part of the fic so WOMP


	39. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> previously: _“You’re something else, Connor,” he says, kissing his temple. Connor nuzzles his face into Hank’s neck, hiding his wide grin, and the two of them take a moment to just enjoy each other before continuing their investigation._

They only have a few more tenants to investigate, and they plot their next move while heading to the lobby of the building.  Connor pulls out their map, going over what they’ve discovered so far.

“Okay, so we know it’s not Gavin, Chloe, the Edens, the empty apartment, or our apartment.  That leaves us with Kara, Markus and Simon, and… Perkins, correct?”

Hank nods, agreeing with Connor’s assessment.  “Sounds about right. What’re we gonna do next?”

Connor frowns, looking around the lobby for inspiration.  His eyes rest on the cluster of mailboxes by the front door, and he seems to be struck with an idea.  “Hank, keep watch while I break into their mailboxes,” Connor tells him, ignoring Hank’s incredulous look.

“Yeah, sure, why not?” he mutters, glancing around the empty lobby.  Connor seems frustrated, finding mostly junk mail and bills in the remaining suspects’ mailboxes.  At last, he finds something that might be helpful, if the ripping sound of the envelope is anything to go by.  

“Look, Hank!” Connor exclaims, brandishing the letter.  “Kara is supposed to have someone from a babysitting agency visit tomorrow!  That could be my way in.”

Hank looks at Connor skeptically.  “You, a babysitter?” he asks, taking in Connor’s whole deal.  His partner is dressed tight black jeans covered with rips tucked into his boots, and one of Hank’s old band shirts with the collar cut off, hanging off his shoulder, faded bruises from Hank's biting kisses visible on his neck and collarbones. Not exactly the picture of a trustworthy child caregiver.  

Connor shrugs, unbothered.  “It could work. I have a disarming face.”  A slow smile blooms on Hank’s lips, and he’s unable to argue with that.

“It’s a pretty good face,” he relents, kissing his cheek.  Connor grins and beckons him towards the stairs.

“Let’s go!” he urges Hank, who shakes his head.

“At least get a fuckin’ scarf or something, Con,” Hank tells him.  “As much as I like seein’ all of this,” he says lowly, moving into Connor’s space, “Kara will probably think you’re some sorta sexual deviant.”  He glances around the abandoned lobby and then presses his lips to Connor’s exposed clavicle. Connor hums, low in his throat, and Hank’s lips are there next.

“Haaank…” Connor whines and that only encourages him.  He backs Connor into a secluded corner, teeth gently grazing his neck. Connor exhales shakily, and Hank slots his thigh between the smaller man’s legs.  Connor gasps, hands clutching at Hank’s shirt, grinding against his thigh. “Hank, we’re… someone could see us…” Connor protests weakly, making Hank grin into his neck.

“No one's comin’, babe,” Hank murmurs huskily in his ear.  Their apartment is right down the hall, it would be so easy to take Connor home… “Except maybe you.”

Connor makes a strangled noise, part arousal, and part embarrassment, and Hank knows they can’t afford to take this somewhere more private because they could easily waste the entire day wrapped up in each other.  He just needs a moment, just wants to kiss Connor a little. He gently cups Connor’s jaw, slotting their lips together, while his other hand slips under the back of Connor’s borrowed shirt, resting against the bare skin of his back.

The effect is instantaneous, Connor going slack and boneless against him, moaning into his mouth.  Hank knows they shouldn’t be doing this out in the open, but something about Connor is just irresistible.  They kiss slowly, unhurried, for a few moments, before Hank reluctantly pulls away. He can feel Connor getting hard against his thigh, and he doesn’t want to distract him too much from their current objective.  Connor makes an unhappy noise, but Hank just presses a kiss to his forehead and moves away.

“...But later.  Come on, we got some more people to talk to yet,” he tells Connor, who grumbles as he adjusts his jeans.

“You said Kara wasn’t going to want me around her kid with a bunch of hickeys,” he complains, “but what will she think if I show up at her front door with an erection?”  Hank laughs loudly, herding Connor back towards their apartment.

“Get a fuckin’ scarf, you maniac, and let's get a move on.  We got a bunch of stairs to climb, you’ll have enough time to calm down.”  His voice pitches lower, suggestive. “I’ll take care of you tonight, don’t worry.”

Connor pouts and flushes, following Hank’s instructions, quickly retrieving a scarf from their apartment and draping it artfully around his neck.  Hank adjusts it slightly and then catches himself just staring stupidly at Connor, a smile on his face. Connor’s own face lights up when he notices, and he grabs Hank’s hand, pulling him towards the stairs.

“What are you thinking about, Hank?” he asks innocently as they start climbing.

“Just about how fuckin’ pretty you are,” Hank tells him bluntly, barely holding back a snort as Connor misses a step when he hears his answer.  He can see a flush rising up the back of Connor’s neck, and it takes every ounce of his self-control not to press his mouth to it.

“You’re the worst,” Connor mutters, but Hank can hear the pleased smile in his voice.

“Yeah, yeah, love you too,” Hank replies as they reach the fourth floor.

Connor beams at him before glancing back and forth between the doors to apartment 7 and apartment 8.  He suddenly seems nervous. “Maybe we should talk to…” he consults their map, “... Simon and Markus first.”

Hank grins.  “Not so confident about your babysitter act now, huh?” he teases, kissing Connor’s temple.

Connor shoves him away playfully.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  He’s trying to sound mad, but failing pretty spectacularly.  Ignoring Hank’s quiet chuckles, he knocks on the door to apartment number 7.

The muffled sound of yelling can be heard from inside the apartment, followed by laughter.  The door swings open and a handsome young man greets them. Probably about Connor’s age with a tan complexion and hair cropped close to his head.  The most striking thing about his appearance, though, is his eyes. They always catch Hank off guard. A blue one and a green one.

“Hello, Hank,” Markus greets them pleasantly.  He’s got paint on his hands and clothes, and he looks distracted.  To Connor, he says, “I don’t believe we’ve met before.” Another shout can be heard from inside the apartment, and Markus laughs quietly.  “You’ll have to excuse Simon, he gets… very competitive when playing online against our other friends.”

Connor seems to be thrown off balance by Markus, and Hank can’t even blame him.  Markus is… something else. Connor quickly shakes his head and clears his throat, offering his hand to Markus.  “My name is Connor. I’m Hank’s partner,” he tells Markus as they shake hands after Markus confirms that the paint on his skin is dry.

Markus’ eyes dart quickly back and forth between the two of them, and then he smiles gently.  “I see. That’s good.” He actually seems genuinely happy about this information. “I’m terribly sorry, but I’m in the middle of a painting, and I don’t want to lose my inspiration.  I don’t mean to be rude, but, could you come back later?”

Muffled gun shots and explosions sound from deeper within their apartment, and Simon curses, making Markus roll his eyes.  “He’s usually very reserved,” he tells Hank and Connor as if he’s letting them in on a big secret as he starts to shut the door.  “It's mostly his brother, Daniel, who really eggs him on.”

“Um-” Connor starts, but Hank gently takes his arm.

“It’s okay,” he tells Markus, as well as Connor.  “We’ll talk to you later.” Connor frowns slightly but allows it.  Markus gives them another apologetic smile before closing the door.

Connor turns to Hank after a moment, crossing his arms and looking sulky.  “First of all,” he starts, and Hank tries his hardest not to laugh, “you didn’t tell me he was beautiful.  I wasn’t prepared.” And Hank can’t hold back, covering his mouth to muffle his laugh.

“Sorry, babe,” he says, wrapping an arm around him, trying to coax him out of his accusatory stance.

“Secondly,” Connor continues, ignoring Hank’s attempts, “why did you let him go?  I wanted to talk to him.”

Hank kisses his cheek.  “He was distracted, he wasn’t gonna be much help.  Plus, he just… doesn’t give off any kind of bad vibe, you know?”  Out of all their neighbors, Hank knows Markus the best, and the younger man has always seemed to be nothing but serene and kind.

Connor relents.  “You’re right, he seems very nice.  But we can’t rule him out yet! And what about his partner?  He must be at least a little computer savvy if he plays online games.”

“Fair enough,” Hank tells him.  “Maybe we can talk to them after we talk to Kara, yeah?”

“...fine,” Connor reluctantly agrees.

Hank smiles.  “Alright. Do your thing,” he says, gesturing to apartment 8.  Connor huffs, adjusting his scarf before crossing the hall and knocking on that door instead.  Hank suddenly feels anxious.

“Listen, sweetheart,” Hank tells him quietly as they wait,  “I don’t know how much help I’ll be during this one… I’m not… great around kids…” he shifts uncomfortably.

Connor’s face falls and he gives Hank a look full of understanding and sympathy.  “It’s okay, Hank,” he tells him, gently stroking his cheek. Before he can say more, the door flies open and Connor pulls his hand away as they are greeted by a small girl.  Hank knows her to be Kara’s daughter, Alice. She’s a bit older than Cole would be by now, but still. It makes him feel hollow. He hangs back uncertainly.

“Hello,” Connor says to her with a smile, kneeling down so he’s at her level.  “My name’s Connor, is your mom home?” Alice stares at him unblinkingly for a moment, then turns and hollers back into the apartment for her mother.

Hurried footsteps approach them, and Kara appears behind her daughter.  “Alice,” she chides, “what did I say about opening the door?”

Alice looks down at her feet.  “To wait until you were there,” she says quietly.  Kara smiles gently.

“It’s okay, just try to remember next time, all right?”  Alice nods and scampers back into the apartment, and Kara faces them.  Her short brown hair is messy, and there are bags under her eyes like she hasn’t been sleeping well.  Hank can only imagine, she always seems very busy whenever he sees her.

“Hi, Mr. Anderson,” she says cheerily to Hank while looking curiously at Connor as he slowly rises back to his feet.  “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“You can just call me Hank,” he tells her.  He’s told her that several times already. “Uh, how are you?”

“Oh, you know… okay…” Kara says although she doesn’t really seem it.  “And you?”

“Hangin’ in there,” Hank tells her, hoping Connor will take over the conversation.  Thankfully, he does.

“Hi!” he says, shifting the focus away from Hank.  “My name is Connor Hunt, I'm the babysitter sent by the agency.”

Kara looks at him warily.  “Oh. I didn't realize anyone would be coming today.”

“I’m sorry, you should have gotten a letter in the mail confirming the date,” Connor tells her with a charming smile.   _Damn, he’s good_ , Hank thinks.  “This happens more often than you'd think, I hope I’m not inconveniencing you.”  He can see Kara warming to him.

“...okay, but why is Mr. - Hank here?  Is he applying for a job as well?” she asks.  Hank snorts, hiding his mouth behind his hand.

Connor shakes his head.  “No, no, Hank’s my partner.  I live with him downstairs.” Kara’s eyebrows raise slightly, but she doesn’t comment on that.  “I was a bit nervous, this is the first time I've gone for an interview with this company, so Hank said he’d come with me.  Help break the ice. When I saw that someone in our building was on our client list, I thought it was too good of an opportunity to pass up. I’m taking some classes at the community college at odd times, but I’m free some days and evenings.”

Kara chews her lip, considering.  “Would you like to come in?” she finally asks.  “Both of you?”

Hank shakes his head.  “Nah, that’s okay, I’ll wait out here.  You two chat.”

Connor turns to him, his eyes wide.  “Hank, darling…” he pleads, and Hank groans mentally, knowing he can’t say no to Connor.  “I could really use your… support. Come with us?” Kara looks amused as Connor tugs gently on Hank’s hand.  The two of them stare at each other for a moment in silent conversation before Hank relents, shoulders sagging.

“Yeah, alright…” he mutters, and Connor smiles.  Kara turns and heads back into her apartment, calling for Alice, and Hank grabs Connor’s arm before they follow her.

“You owe me,” he murmurs, close to his ear, and Connor exhales quietly.

“I’ll think of a way to… repay you,” he tells Hank, looking at him with hooded eyes, and fuck if that doesn’t put Hank in the mood.

“Damn it,” he groans, giving Connor a gentle shove towards the door.  He hears his boyfriend snicker quietly as the two of them follow Kara inside.  They pause in the entryway, and Connor makes some sort of distressingly genuine observation about the wallpaper that seems to put Kara at ease.

Hank shoves his hands into his pockets, looking around the entryway awkwardly.  Kara muffles a yawn against her hand and turns to them. “I’m sorry, but I really need some coffee.  Would you two likes some?”

“That would be wonderful, thank you,” Connor answers for them.  She smiles and gestures toward the living room.

“Go make yourselves at home, I’ll be with you in a few minutes.”  Connor thanks her again, and grabs Hank’s arm to pull him towards the living room.

Alice sits on the floor in front of the tv, playing with some toys.  She briefly glances up at them, but then shyly gets back to her game.  Connor leans in close to Hank, speaking quietly. “I’ll need you to distract her so I can go through her computer,” he tells him.

Hank sputters.  “How am I supposed to do that?” he whispers back.  Connor makes an impatient noise.

“You’re the detective, I’m sure you’ll think of something.”  Kara enters the room, a small tray with coffees balanced in her hands.  Hank and Connor quickly cut off their hushed argument, turning to her and hoping they’re giving convincing enough smiles.  Kara tilts her head and gives them a searching look.

“Everything okay?” she asks.  Connor nods quickly, looking very reassuring.

“Yes, yes, everything’s fine.”  Kara lets it go with a shrug and leads them over to the sofa, putting the tray on the coffee table.  Beside it sits a laptop. The three of them take their seats, and she offers them the coffee, an amused glimmer in her eye when she sees how much cream and sugar Connor adds to his.

“So, Connor,” she starts, and the younger man turns his gaze to her, big doe eyes looking inquisitive and eager to please.  He pulls off the innocent act stupidly well, despite looking like he’d be more at home at a rock concert. “Alice… she’s very shy.  She’s not a lot of work, honestly, she really keeps to herself. I’d like to get her to come out of her shell more, but…” she trails off, glancing over at the little girl who’s still playing with her dolls and ignoring them.  “Alice, sweetheart, would you mind playing in your room for a little so I can talk to Hank and Connor about some grown-up things?” she asks gently.

Alice stands silently, clinging to her dolls as she goes.  Kara watches her, frowning slightly, before turning back to the men.  “I… adopted Alice a few years ago. I used to nanny for her family, but after her mother left, her father became… very unkind.”  Hank and Connor both frown at this information. “I don’t want to get into it too much, but… I feel like it wouldn’t be fair to you, to ask you to take this job without disclosing a few things.”

Connor leans forward slightly, looking like he’s listening intently.  “Please, take your time.”

Kara shoots him a grateful smile and pulls her bare feet up onto the sofa, wrapping her arms around her knees.  “He hasn’t managed to find us here yet, but… I got word that he recently got out of jail, and I worry he could show up here, looking for her.  He hurt her badly and I don’t want her to ever have to see him again. But…”

Hank suddenly understands Kara’s caution about Alice answering the door by herself, and why she looks so tired all the time.  She probably isn’t sleeping well if she’s been worrying about this guy showing up. “Listen, Kara,” he says before he even really thinks about it, “if you need help, or if you want me to see what I can find out about this guy’s whereabouts, you can come to me.  I’m on leave right now, but… I’m with the Detroit Police, I’ll do what I can to help you out.”

Connor turns to him with an affectionate smile on his face, and Kara’s eyes look a little misty as if she’s unused to such basic kindnesses.  Hank really doesn’t think she’s the one they’re looking for, but he knows Connor will want to be sure. “Thank you, Hank,” she says, seeming almost overwhelmed.  “That… is very kind. It makes me feel safer just knowing you’re in the building, honestly.”

Hank nods.  “It’s no problem.  Remind me to give you my number before we leave.”  Connor rests a hand on this thigh, squeezing gently.

“You’ll have nothing to worry about with Hank around,” Connor tells her seriously, making Hank flush slightly.

“Fuck off,” he grumbles, smiling despite himself, before realizing he should probably watch his mouth with a small child around.  “Shit, sorry…”

Kara just laughs, looking delighted.  “God, it’s so refreshing to talk to grown-ups every now and then.”  Hank chuckles. “I’ve been working mostly while Alice is at school, but… it’s not enough anymore.  So I need someone who can stay with her, on weekends sometimes and maybe evenings. I hate to be away from her more, but…”

Connor nods in understanding.  “I’m sure it’s a very difficult decision, but it’ll be good for you and Alice in the long run.”  Kara nods, still looking conflicted.

“I know…”  

Connor gives her a comforting smile.  “Alice seems like a very intelligent girl.  I’m sure she’ll understand.” However, just then, a quiet cry comes from the direction of Alice’s bedroom, and the three of them look over to see the little girl standing in the doorway, looking at them with tears in her eyes.

“Mommy… are you leaving?” she whispers, sounding unsure.  Kara’s face falls, and she jumps up and hurries over to her.

“No, Alice, of course not…” she murmurs comfortingly, kneeling down to be on her level.  “I’m just… going to have to be working more for a while, and Connor here might be coming to spend some time with you while I’m away.”  Alice’s bottom lip trembles and she darts back into her room, looking upset.

“Shit…” Kara mutters, turning to them apologetically.  “I’m sorry, I’ll be right back,” she tells them, following her daughter and pushing the door closed behind her.  They can just barely hear Alice crying quietly and Kara gently comforting her.

Hank and Connor exchange quick looks, before Connor’s grabbing her laptop and getting to work on it.

“It doesn’t feel good going through her shit like this,” Hank mutters, and Connor nods, typing quickly so he can scan through her computer.

“I know, Hank.  But we’ve got to be sure.”  Hank agrees, but it doesn’t make him feel any better.

“I think you might actually get the job, babe,” he tells Connor, keeping an eye on the bedroom door.

Connor chews on his bottom lip guiltily.  “If I wasn’t… dying, I’d actually consider it,” Connor says, and Hank’s face falls slightly.

“Yeah…” he replies sadly, not wanting to think about it.  Connor’s looking sad now, too, but he sorts quickly through her files and comes up empty.  He shuts the laptop, looking annoyed to not have found anything, but also relieved that the kind woman is actually who she seems.

“Maybe we should go,” Hank suggests, quickly changing the subject.  “I think we’re upsetting her kid, this might not be a good time.” Connor nods and rises from the sofa in tandem with Hank.

“I’ll just say goodbye to her,” Connor says, tapping quietly on the bedroom door before poking his head inside.  Hank hovers behind him awkwardly. He can see inside the little girl's room, stereotypically pink and feminine. Kara’s trying to coax her out of a fort made out of lacey blankets and dripping with fairy lights.  Alice wants nothing to do with it, and Kara looks distressed when she turns to face them.

“Uhh, we can go if this is a bad time,” Hank says, running a hand through his hair.  Kara sighs, standing and walking to them.

“I’m sorry,” she says quietly.  “I didn’t think she would react this way.  I should have told her about it sooner.” Connor’s watching Alice intently, a look of concentration on his face.

“May I try speaking with her?” he asks Kara, who gives him a surprised look but nods.

“Yeah, why not?” she says, as Connor moves slowly towards Alice’s fort, trying to look as non-threatening as possible.  Hank folds his arms and watches him, curious about how the interaction will play out.

“Hello, Alice,” Connor says gently, gracefully folding himself onto the floor, sitting with his legs in a pretzel.  He gives her that disarming smile, and Alice watches him, cautious but not shying away. “I like your dog,” Connor tells her, gesturing to the stuffed animal she clutches against her chest.  “What’s his name?”

Alice glances to her mother, who gives an encouraging nod, before quietly telling Connor, “Buddy.”

Connor smiles.  “That’s a good name.  You know, Hank and I have a dog.”  Alice perks up at this, looking interested.  “His name is Sumo. He’s very big.” Alice scoots closer to him.

“Can I see him sometime?” she whispers, and Connor grins.

“Of course,” he promises.  “You and your mom can come over.  Maybe you can even visit with us when she’s at work.”  Hank knows they are absolutely obligated to do this now because he can’t imagine disappointing this little girl.  Watching Connor interact with her so naturally makes his heart hurt, imagining how different things would be if Cole was still here.  How good Connor would have been with him. _Of course… I might not have even met Connor in that scenario…_ he thinks, shaking away that thought before he can start down _that_ particular path again.

Alice thinks that over, but eventually she smiles.  “Okay,” she agrees quietly, scrubbing at her tear stained cheeks.

Connor smiles.  “He’ll be very excited to meet you.  He loves making new friends.” Alice looks excited, too, and she stands up to run over to her mother.

“Is it okay if I see their dog sometime?” she begs, and Kara laughs.

“Of course, Alice,” she says, shooting Connor a grateful smile as he gets back on his feet.  Hank knows he’s giving Connor the softest look right now, but he can’t help it. His partner sidles up to him, linking their fingers together loosely, satisfied he completed his mission.

“Thank you for your time today, ladies,” Connor says, “but Hank and I have taken up enough of your afternoon.”

Kara smiles, leading them towards the door.  “Thank _you,_ ” she says seriously, handing Connor a scrap of paper and a pen.  “Would you like to write your number down so I can text you more details later?”  Hank feels uncomfortable with how far their lie is going, but Connor plays along just fine, the only sign of his distress a brief flicker of sadness in his eyes that Hank alone notices.

“Of course,” says Connor, scribbling down his number, and then Hank’s below it.  “There’s Hank’s number, too, if you need… anything.” Kara gives them another grateful look, and before they open the door, Alice unglues herself from her mother’s side and rushes towards them, giving Connor a hug.  Connor immediately rolls with it, kneeling down and hugging her in return.

“It was lovely meeting you, Alice,” he tells her seriously, and the little girl giggles before moving on to Hank, who freezes, totally unprepared.  “Hank,” Connor gently nudges his arm, breaking him out of his stupor, and he timidly hugs the little girl back.

“Nice… nice seein’ you again, kid,” he tells her, trying to keep his voice even.  Kara shoots him a questioning glance, gently pulling Alice back to her side to ease some of his discomfort.

“Tell Hank and Connor we’ll see them later, okay?” she says, ruffling her daughter’s hair.

“See you!” Alice chirps, and Connor gives her a friendly wave goodbye as he leads Hank from the apartment.

“I’ll text you later,” Kara tells Connor in parting, and Connor nods agreeably.

“Sounds good,” he replies.  Kara closes the door, and they hear the lock slide into place afterward.  Her precaution seems well founded, after what she told them.

Hank heaves a shuddering sigh, turning to Connor guiltily.  “Sorry about that, Con,” he mutters, eyes darting to the side.  “I wasn’t too much of a help in there, I kinda choked.”

Connor’s arms wrap around him and he rubs his cheek against his chest.  “ _I’m_ sorry to have put you in a situation that made you uncomfortable.  You did just fine. I’m proud of you.” Hank rests his chin on top of Connor’s head, just as the door to Markus and Simon’s apartment opens.

Connor releases Hank, turning to see the new additions to the hallway.  Markus steps out into the hall, in fresh clothes, fingers linked with a blond man’s.  Simon had only moved in a few months ago, so Hank doesn’t know him very well. He’s an attractive young man, though, with blue eyes and a pretty face.

“Oh, Hank.  Connor,” says Markus, looking surprised to see them.  “Everything okay?”

Connor opens his mouth to answer, but Hank beats him to it, giving Markus a sheepish grin.  “Yeah, we’re good,” he tells him, glancing awkwardly to the side. “We were just visiting with Kara.  And her daughter…”

A look of understanding crosses Markus’ features, and he looks sympathetic.  “Oh, I see,” he murmurs. Markus is one of the few people who lived in the building longer than Hank, so he would remember Cole.  Markus is very empathetic, there is no need for further explanation. Diplomatically, he changes the subject.

“You remember Simon, my partner?” he says, gesturing towards the blond man.  Hank nods, giving him a wave.

“Nice to see you again,” Hank replies awkwardly, glad that neither of the other men are suspicious about Hank and Connor just hanging around in the hallway outside of their apartment.

“Likewise,” Simon smiles after a quick glance at Markus, knowing he hasn’t got the full story.

“And I’m Connor,” the last man in question chimes in, making Hank snort.

“Yeah, sorry,” he mutters.  “This is Connor. He moved in a few months back.”  He gently rests a hand on Connor’s hip, leaving no uncertainty about the nature of their cohabitation.    Simon looks happy about this news. _Why are these two so thrilled about our relationship?_ Hank wonders.

“Simon and I were just going out to get some art supplies, but we’d love to talk to you more sometime,” Markus tells them, linking his arm with Simon’s.  

Connor smiles.  “That would be lovely,” he tells them, waving as the two men head down the stairs.  After a few moments, when they’re certain the two of them have exited the building, Hank and Connor nod at each other before heading for their apartment door.

“Perfect fuckin’ timing,” Hank mutters, keeping a lookout while Connor works on the lock and hums in agreement.  “And we don’t even have to make up some elaborate lie to go through their personal shit.”

Connor shoots him a disgruntled look over his shoulder but relaxes when he sees Hank’s grinning at him.  “We’re in,” he announces, carefully swinging the door open. Hank follows Connor into the apartment, and the two of them pause in the entryway, taking a look around.

The wall to their left is covered with a floor to ceiling mural that Markus must have painted right on top of the exposed cinder blocks.  The whole apartment has a very artsy feel to it, tons of framed art on the walls, and little knick-knacks all over the place.  The living room has a corner that holds an easel and a bunch of art supplies, and on the opposite side of the room is a comfortable looking sofa parked in front of a large tv.  This must be where the couple spends most of their time together on their respective hobbies. It’s kind of sweet.

“Let’s make this quick,” Hank says, not wanting to get caught if the two men come back.  Connor nods, making himself comfortable on the sofa and grabbing the expensive looking laptop that is attached to the tv with an HDMI cable.  Simon seems to have a lot of high-end gaming equipment, making Hank wonder just how successful an artist Markus actually is.

He hears Connor tapping away at the computer keys and idly examines more of the couple’s stuff.  He hopes it’s not them, from what he can observe they seem like a nice couple.

“Well, I don’t think it’s them,” Connor’s voice pulls him out of his musing, and he turns to see the younger man carefully replacing the laptop, standing up with a frown.  “That only leaves one other person, you know.”

Hank sighs.  “Yeah. I know.  Let’s get out of here, and then we’ll go talk to Perkins.”  Connor looks pissed, and Hank grabs onto his arm. “Try not to lose it before we’re sure it’s him,” Hank tells him gently, kissing his temple.  Connor sighs, but reluctantly nods.

“Okay, okay,” he grumbles, crossing his arms.  “Even if he isn’t who we’re looking for, though, he still got you killed that one time.  I don’t like him.”

Hank smiles, leading Connor from the apartment with a hand on the small of his back.  “That’s not what we’re worried about right now,” he tells him. “Are you gonna be good?”

Connor purses his lips but eventually nods.  “Yeah, alright,” he says, and Hank’s not _totally_ buying it, but it’s probably the best he’s going to get.  They descend two flights of stairs before reaching the second floor, stopping in front of apartment number 4.

“So what, exactly, is the plan?” Hank asks.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got it all figured out,” Connor tells him confidently, and before Hank can reply the younger man is already knocking on the door.  Hank rolls his eyes, standing behind Connor. After a moment the door swings open, and Perkins is standing in front of them, a bit of a mirror of Hank’s last encounter with the angry man.

Perkins takes in Connor first, opening his mouth to ask a question, but then he sees Hank behind him and blanches.  Hank snorts.

“What do _you_ want?” he sneers at Hank.  He seems nervous, and Hank understands why.  It’s not every day you have to face the guy you tried to take out with a hitman.  Hank puts his hands up in mock defense.

“I don’t want _anything_ to do with you,” he tells Perkins disdainfully.  “It’s this one you gotta deal with right now.” He gestures to Connor, who’s glaring daggers at their neighbor.  Perkins shifts his attention to Connor.

“And you are…?” he asks, looking unimpressed.

“Hank’s boyfriend,” Connor bites out.  “You tried to kill him.” Hank’s not sure how this approach is going to get anything out of the other man, and he grabs Connor’s arm gently.

“Con, that’s not why we’re here…” he mutters, afraid Connor’s losing focus because of his anger.

Perkins’ eyes dart back and forth between them, and he looks nervous.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about… Can’t prove anything…” he mumbles.

“But Hank’s right,” Connor cuts off his rambling.  “That’s not why we’re here today.” He takes a step closer to Perkins, who tenses up in response.

“Back off, you fucking-” before their neighbor can finish whatever derogatory term he was about to fling at him, the side of Connor’s hand slams into his neck, instantly knocking him unconscious.  Hank stares, openmouthed, as Perkins crumples to the floor, hitting his head on the doorframe on the way down.

“Holy shit, Con,” he finally utters, staring down at the motionless man on the ground.  “Did you just fuckin’ kill him?” Connor nudges the man with his boot, and he lets out a quiet groan but otherwise doesn’t move.

“Of course not, Hank,” he replies as if it was an absurd question.  “Just knocked him out. Now we can check his apartment in peace.”

Hank looks between Perkins and Connor in disbelief before suddenly surging forward, pinning Connor against the wall.  “I know I told you to keep calm, but Jesus, that was fuckin’ hot,” he growls before kissing him deeply. Connor makes a surprised noise but quickly wraps his arms around Hank’s neck, holding him close.

Hank grabs his hips, pushing him right against the wall, and Connor whines into the kiss, nearly climbing up him before Hank gets the hint and lifts him from the floor.  Connor quickly wraps his legs around Hank’s waist, as Hank grabs his ass and shifts him against the wall to hold him up while Connor licks into his mouth.

This probably isn’t the best time or place to be making out with his boyfriend, out in the open beside an unconscious man, but Hank can’t be bothered to worry about that too much, especially when Connor starts rolling his hips slowly against him.  Hank’s grip on his ass tightens, and Connor breaks the kiss, head lolling back against the wall as he groans quietly.

“Shhh, baby,” Hank murmurs, attaching his mouth to Connor’s neck.  “Gotta keep the noise down.” Connor bites his bottom lip, holding back a whine when Hank sucks at the delicate skin below his jaw.  “You’re fuckin’ incredible,” Hank tells him, teeth gently nipping at his Adam’s apple, a warm feeling in his chest from Connor’s protectiveness over him.  Connor’s breath hitches, his arms tightening around Hank as he lets out a shaky breath.

At that moment, Perkins stirs slightly, and they both remember their actual objective.  “Shit,” Hank mutters, and Connor reluctantly releases his legs from around Hank’s waist as he’s lowered to the ground.  Hank adjusts his jeans slightly, and he can tell Connor’s in a similar uncomfortably aroused state. “Let's finish this up and then we’ll take care of that,” he tells Connor quietly, teasingly running his hand along the zipper of Connor’s jeans, making him gasp.

“Yes, okay,” Connor says, swallowing thickly and stepping over Perkins’ unconscious body, entering his apartment.  Hank sighs, grabbing Perkins and dragging him inside, kicking the door shut behind them. Connor’s already seeking out the computer, and Hank dumps their neighbor unceremoniously onto the sofa.  Perkins apartment is bland and devoid of personality, much like the man himself.

“Found the computer!” Connor calls to him from another room, and Hank follows the sound of his voice, entering the bedroom and watching Connor sift through the files in front of him.  Hank sees Connor’s face steadily fall, his brows furrowing in confusion. Finally, he turns to Hank.

“There’s… nothing,” he says, sounding confused.  Hank frowns.

“How is that possible?  We checked everyone.”

Connor stands up, pacing the room.  “I don’t know, maybe we missed something… or maybe Elijah knew that I was around and covered his tracks.”  Hank hadn’t even considered that.

“Shit,” he sighs, pulling Connor into a hug.  Connor sags against him, defeated. Hank rubs his back soothingly.  “It’s okay, babe,” he murmurs, “we’ll figure it out. Let’s go home and regroup, tomorrow is another day.”

Connor’s pouting, but he reluctantly agrees.  Hank leads him from the bedroom to the front door, and they take one last glance at Perkins, sprawled awkwardly over the sofa.  “Well, at least one good thing came out of all this,” he says with an unwilling smile. Hank chuckles, wrapping an arm around Connor’s waist.

“Yeah.  At least there’s that.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kara adopting alice? unrealistic perhaps? maybe but still not worse than making alice an android


	40. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> previously: _“Shit,” he sighs, pulling Connor into a hug. Connor sags against him, defeated. Hank rubs his back soothingly. “It’s okay, babe,” he murmurs, “we’ll figure it out. Let’s go home and regroup, tomorrow is another day.”_
> 
> _Connor’s pouting, but he reluctantly agrees. Hank leads him from the bedroom to the front door, and they take one last glance at Perkins, sprawled awkwardly over the sofa. “Well, at least one good thing came out of all this,” he says with an unwilling smile. Hank chuckles, wrapping an arm around Connor’s waist._
> 
> _“Yeah. At least there’s that."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god ok jlfdskdfjsld sry i got anxious abt posting again and kept putting this off but its not gonna get any Better (tm) and i kinda wanna get this FINISHED so!!! here is some NSFW for ya. real fucky. i hope u enjoy ;P

As they leave Perkin’s apartment, the realization that they’ve checked out every single one of their neighbors _really_ hits Hank.  Connor’s frowning, staring down at their map in frustration.

“I don’t understand…” he’s muttering to himself, glaring at the map as if it’s the cause of all their trouble.  Something like panic fills Hank’s mind, and he grabs onto Connor’s arm gently, making him jerk to a stop.

“Connor,” Hank starts, looking at him seriously.  Connor raises an eyebrow, unsure of what is going on.  “Connor, I know we didn’t figure out who it is, and that doesn’t look good, but I promise… it’s not me.”  Hank knows how suspicious this looks, and he wouldn’t blame Connor if he _did_ think Hank was responsible.

Connor frowns, cradling Hank’s face and pulling him in for a gentle kiss.  “The thought never even crossed my mind,” he tells Hank just as seriously when they part, and Hank’s relief is palpable.  “We’ve been together for a while now, and you’ve been nothing but wonderful to me.” Connor strokes his cheek gently before continuing.  “Also, I've used your computer multiple times. You won’t even use the facebook I made you, I can't see you trolling forums.” Hank snorts.  “We must have missed something. But we’ll figure it out.” Connor tugs on his hand and they start their descent, ready to go home.

Hank nods.  “You’re damn right we’ll figure it out,” he says, allowing Connor to lead him back down to the first floor.  Hank takes out the key to their apartment, but they both freeze at the front door, seeing a note taped to it.

“Apartment 5.  Midnight,” Connor reads, hands trembling as he detaches the note from the door.

“Apartment 5?   _Chloe_?” Hank asks in disbelief.  Connor frowns.

“That can’t be right…” he murmurs, turning the note over as if there will be answers on the back.  “We should go up there now and talk to her.”

Hank shakes his head.  “No, the note says midnight.  We’re so close, we can’t fuck it up by jumping the gun.”  Connor looks like he wants to argue, but Hank doesn’t back down.  “She knows that _we_ know.  She has the advantage right now.  And even more so if we barge in there unprepared.  So we wait.”

Connor sighs, but finally nods, and Hank unlocks the door, herding him back into the apartment with a hand on the small of his back.  The tension bleeds out of Connor as they enter their home and Sumo comes bounding over to them in greeting. Hank watches his partner kneel to pet their dog with a fond smile on his face.  “What do you want to do until midnight?” Hank asks him. “We got about 5 hours to kill.”

Connor stands up, heading to the side door to let Sumo out.  He turns back to Hank as the dog bounds into the yard with a gentle smile on his face.  “Well…” he says, and Hank knows _that_ tone all too well.  “We’re going to have dinner.  And then a shower. And then…” he pauses, crossing the floor and closing the distance between them.  He tangles their fingers together loosely before continuing. “And then I would like you to take me to bed.”

Hank inhales sharply, meeting Connor’s gaze.  “You want…” he starts, needing to be sure he’s understanding the situation correctly.

“I want you to fuck me,” Connor tells him bluntly.  Hank chokes on nothing, and Connor softens. “Or rather…” he amends, wrapping his arms around Hank and nuzzling his neck.  “I would like you to make love to me.”

“Jesus…” Hank mutters, arms sliding around Connor in return, kissing the top of his head.  “You sure?”

“Positive,” Connor replies, lips pressing against Hank’s neck.  “If you would be open to that.”

Hank chuckles weakly.  “Fuck yeah I’d be open to that.  But why now?”

Sumo wanders back into the apartment, barely sparing them a glance before making his way into the kitchen.  The two of them separate, knowing Sumo is going to be expecting his dinner now. Hank’s pretty sure the dog has _them_ trained, rather than the other way around.

“Well,” Connor says, as they follow Sumo, “it just feels… right, you know?”

Hank nods as he fills Sumo’s dish, and they watch the dog absolutely pounce on his meal.  Connor laughs, and Hank corners him against the counter, pressing their hips together. “We’ve been waiting a while, though,” he says lowly before kissing Connor’s neck.  “You think you can handle it?” Connor gasps as his hips jerk against Hank’s, and he has to suppress a grin.

“Yeah,” Connor says breathlessly as Hank’s teeth nip gently at the delicate skin of his neck.  “I can _handle_ it just fine,” and then it’s Hank’s turn to gasp as Connor palms his cock through his jeans.

“Fuck, babe…” Hank groans as Connor rubs him teasingly for a moment before gently shoving him away, a smug smile on his face.

“We should really eat first, though,” he tells Hank, heading to the fridge to rummage around for something to cook.  Hank’s eyes trail over his form appreciatively, his pants uncomfortably tight. Connor glances back over his shoulder, giving him a smoldering look, and Hank resigns himself to being stupidly aroused for the duration of the meal.

 

* * *

 

After finishing their food and leaving their dishes by the sink, the two of them take a long shower together, lazily but thoroughly cleaning each other between languid kisses. As turned on as Hank was during dinner, he's able to take his time and really savor just being close to Connor and being able to touch him wherever he wants. Arousal still hums steadily through his veins and anticipation for what's to come sits heavy in his stomach. He's been half hard since they first got home, and Connor's definitely not doing anything to discourage that.

Connor's hands run slowly over his chest, a bar of soap in his grip, and Hank knows he's proud of himself for his ingenious way to wash him and feel him up simultaneously. He's not complaining, though, especially when Connor sets the soap back on the shelf and starts playing with his nipples instead.  He bites his lip, holding back the groan that threatens to escape.

“I'd like to hear you, Hank,” Connor informs him quietly as he gently pinches.

“Fuuuuck…” Hank can't help but gasp, and Connor rewards him for it, rinsing the soap off his chest before replacing his fingers with his mouth, sucking before running his tongue over one and then the other.  Hank moans his name quietly, and Connor makes a satisfied humming sound before pulling away. His big, brown eyes meet Hank’s, and he continues rubbing one of his nipples while resting the other hand on his hip.

“We should go to bed now,” he says quietly, and Hank can barely focus on his words while he’s being teased like this.

“Shit, yeah, okay,” he manages to grunt, and Connor indulges for a little while longer, rolling the raised bud gently between his fingers and making Hank mutter, “yes, baby, just like that…” before finally shutting off the water.

The journey from the bathroom to the bedroom is a blur, full of kissing and damp skin and wandering hands before they finally collapse into their bed together.  Connor wastes no time getting on top of Hank, straddling his hips and kissing him deeply. Hank readily opens his mouth against Connor’s, giving the other man free reign as their tongues brush against each other.

_Jesus Christ_ , Hank thinks, resting his hands on Connor’s hips and grinding up against him.  Connor whimpers, concentration momentarily shattered, and Hank takes advantage of that to slip his tongue past Connor’s lips instead.  Connor doesn’t seem to mind, eagerly allowing Hank to lick into his mouth and bucking his hips down. They’re both hard, and the feeling of Connor’s cock dragging along his own with each sinful roll of his hips is intoxicating.  Hank soon loses track of time. The only things he can focus on are the movements of Connor’s hips against his own, and the wet sounds their mouths make as they kiss.

Eventually, Connor pulls away, desperate for air.  The two of them breathe heavily, and Connor stares at him, a hand gently cupping his cheek.  “Do you still want to do this?” he asks.

Hank turns his head and kisses his palm.  “You fuckin’ bet. Do you?”

Connor’s answer is an enthusiastic nod, and Hank gives him a tender smile, even as his cock twitches in excitement.

“How do you want it?” he murmurs, hands running gently up and down Connor’s back.  Connor’s repeatedly expressed interest with Hank topping him, but he needs to be sure.  “Want me to fuck you?”

Connor shivers as Hank’s hands roam over him, and he nods again.  “I’ve wanted that since the day we met.” The admission shouldn’t surprise Hank as much as it does, Connor literally told him that the first night, but part of him still has a hard time accepting that Connor wants him so completely.  

“Same here,” he says quietly, gently pushing Connor off of him and sitting up so he can swap their positions.  Connor crawls over to the edge of the bed, pawing through the drawer on the bedside table. He hands Hank the bottle of lube, but Hank stops him before he can lay back down.

“Stay on all fours for a little, baby,” he murmurs, running a hand down Connor’s spine.  Connor trembles and looks over his shoulder at Hank.

“Wanna see your face…”

“You will,” Hank promises him, large hands gently grabbing his ass.  “But I wanna open you up like this. If that’s okay.” He grins when Connor instantly agrees.

“Good boy,” Hank says quietly, and Connor whines, head hanging between his arms as he spreads his thighs more, shamelessly displaying himself to Hank.  “Fuck…” Hank breathes, using his hands to spread him open, gaze drawn to his entrance. “God, Connor. Look at you...” he groans, a thumb brushing over his hole.  “I can't believe this is all mine.” Connor twitches and whimpers, trying to push back onto Hank’s fingers.

“Haaank…” Connor whines, urging him to get on with it, but his whine suddenly cuts off into a moan when Hank leans down and drags his tongue over his entrance, making his legs shake.  “Oh, fuck…”

“That okay, baby?” Hank says teasingly, and Connor nods weakly, lowering himself onto his elbows and forearms.

“That’s… that’s very good, Hank…” he replies, sounding breathless.

Hank chuckles quietly.  “Good,” he murmurs before getting to work, licking long stripes over Connor’s hole, loving the beautiful sounds that he makes in response.  As he swirls his tongue around his rim, Connor gasps loudly and Hank thinks he’d be happy spending hours just taking him apart like this, a thought he decides to voice to Connor.  “I could eat your ass all night, sweetheart,” he tells him quietly, and Connor trembles, panting.

“Hank, God…” he moans, pushing back against him, desperate for more.  Hank obliges, working his tongue into him as much as he can before pulling out, only to slide it right back in a second later.  Connor tries to muffle his needy sounds and Hank pauses.

“None of that, baby,” he growls, a gentle nip to his ass.  “Wanna hear all those pretty noises you make.” Connor whimpers and Hank rewards him by licking back into him, the brush of his beard against his sensitive skin making Connor tremble some more.  He continues the steady in and out movement of his tongue, turning Connor into a panting, incoherent mess. When he sucks gently at that puckered hole, Connor whines brokenly.  
  
“H-hank…” he manages to moan.  Hank knows that tone of voice and he knows it means Connor’s close.  He gives one last broad stroke of his tongue over his entrance before pulling back, still holding him spread open and admiring the view of Connor’s hole, now wet with his saliva.  The sight sends a fresh burst of possessive arousal through him, and, strangely enough, a wave of affection. The fact that Connor not only allows but _encourages_ him to put him in these vulnerable, exposed positions speaks volumes about his trust for Hank, and just how comfortable he is in his presence.   _Gettin’ sentimental about an asshole, now, Jesus Christ..._

“You can’t come yet, Connor,” Hank tells him, shaking away his errant thoughts, running a finger lightly over his hole in contemplation and smirking when Connor gasps.  “Unless you think you can manage it twice?”

Connor exhales slowly, definitely not opposed to the idea, but ends up shaking his head.  “Not tonight,” he murmurs, breathing heavily. “I wanna come on your cock tonight.”

Hank groans, letting go of Connor’s ass and giving himself a quick squeeze, almost desperate to get inside him.  “Fair enough. But someday I'm gonna make you come with nothing but my tongue.” Connor whines at the thought.

Hank’s rock hard and leaking, but despite how often his thick fingers are inside Connor, his cock is thicker, and he still needs to prep him.  Thoroughly. Not that he’s complaining. Quite the opposite. Connor looks back at him over his shoulder with hooded eyes, and Hank meets his gaze while giving himself a few slow, languid strokes, making Connor bite his lip.

“Do you like that?  Watching me touch myself, knowing how fucking _hard_ you’ve got me?” Hank asks quietly, leaning over Connor’s back so they can kiss and letting his cock drag along the cleft of Connor’s ass.  The sensation has them both moaning into each other’s mouths, so eager for what's to come. Connor breaks the kiss, but they’re still so close that when he speaks, his lips brush against Hank’s.

“Please…” he breathes.  “I need you so badly…” and fuck, Hank thought he couldn’t be any more turned on than he already was, but he’s just been proven wrong.

“Yeah, okay,” he agrees, swallowing thickly, sitting back behind Connor again and giving his ass a gentle squeeze, admiring the sight of his own large hands on his partner.  “Christ, what an ass…” he praises quietly, and he can see the flush that’s already spreading down the back of Connor’s neck darken.

“Want you in it,” Connor’s starting to sound impatient, and Hank grins.

“Soon,” he promises, reaching for the lube while giving his ass a playful swat, which has Connor keening and burying his face in his arms.  “Yeah, we’ll definitely have to explore _that_ more at a later date,” Hank teases, drizzling a fair amount of the lubricant onto his fingers before sliding two into Connor straight away.

Connor's loose and eager, and Hank easily buries his fingers in him, meeting no resistance and forcing a moan from Connor’s mouth.  “God, you're so fuckin’ desperate for me, aren't you?” Hank teases, a filthy grin on his face as he fucks Connor with his fingers. Connor whines out a confirmation, rocking back to meet Hank's thrusts. Hank goes slow, his goal to prep Connor rather than arouse him any further, although Connor seems to have other ideas, trying to make Hank go faster.  Harder.

“Slow down, baby,” Hank murmurs, scissoring his fingers while rubbing the base of Connor's spine with his free hand. Connor mewls and forces himself to settle, letting Hank set the pace. “Good boy,” Hank growls, dragging his fingers over his prostate before slipping a third finger into him, pleased by the effect that both his words and his actions have on his lover.

Connor exhales heavily, his body trembling with desire, a quiet moan spilling from his lips every time Hank's fingers re-enter him.  He works him open for a few more minutes, transfixed by the sight of his digits disappearing into Connor. He can’t wait to fill him with something else.

“Think you're ready?” Hank asks, and Connor chokes on a moan, nodding feverishly.

“Fuck yes,” he breathes, and Hank spreads his fingers one more time for good measure before pulling out of him with a wet sound. Connor nearly sobs at the sudden emptiness, but quickly scrambles onto his back, spreading his legs wide as Hank kneels between them.

“Jesus, Connor,’ Hank groans, slicking up his cock, stroking himself while Connor watches, transfixed and eager. “You still… okay like this? We got those condoms if you changed your mind.”

Connor shakes his head emphatically, grabbing his own cock and giving it a few slow tugs, slick with precome.  “Put your dick in me, Hank,” he demands, although some of the effect is lost by the desperate tone of his voice. Hank watches Connor touch himself for a moment before nodding, settling between his legs and lining the head of his cock up with Connor's entrance.

“Tell me if it's too much,” he says quietly, face close to Connor's. “We can stop at any time.”

Connor gives him a soft smile, reaching up and tucking a strand of hair behind Hank's ear. “I can take it, Hank. Just, please.  Fuck me.”

Hank grins, leaning in and kissing him softly while he slowly pushes in. Connor gasps into the kiss as the head of Hank's cock breaches him, letting out a groan that is equal parts pained and pleasured. Hank freezes, breaking the kiss and pulling back to gauge his reaction. “Are you okay?” he asks, a hand gently cupping Connor's face.  God, he feels so tight...

Connor nods, exhaling slowly. “Yeah, I'm good, just. Fuck, you're huge.”  Hank chuckles warmly, peppering kisses over Connor's face, waiting for his lover to give him the go ahead.  Eventually, Connor manages a nod, and Hank resumes carefully pushing into him. He goes slow, inch by inch, giving Connor plenty of time to adjust. He knows he's big, is proud of the fact, even. But he also knows he has to be gentle with his partners until they're used to him, and he can tell that despite Connor’s bravado, this is definitely more than he was expecting.

Connor's panting quietly, soft moans spilling from his mouth every time Hank sinks in a little farther. “You still doin’ okay?” Hank asks him breathlessly, as he's about to bottom out. Connor whines and nods, and Hank sinks completely into him with a loud moan, trying very hard to not lose all self-control. Connor is so warm and tight around him, and being buried in that slick heat is tearing his composure to shreds.

Connor lets out a shuddering sigh, looking up at Hank like he's the most precious thing he's ever seen. His eyes are misty, and for a moment Hank panics, afraid he's hurt Connor. But Connor blinks, and even as tears spill over and run down his cheeks, he's smiling, and he cuts Hank off before he can ask if he's okay.

“I'm wonderful,” Connor tells him quietly, reaching up to cup his face before running his fingers through his slightly damp hair. “I just love you so much.”  And god, Hank feels a knot of emotion in his own throat at Connor's words.

“I love you too, baby,” he replies, voice equally low, and he leans down and captures Connor's lips with his own, kissing him softly while giving him time to adjust to his girth. Connor’s hands run gently up and down his back, and the moment feels so tender that Hank can’t help the tears that leak from underneath his own closed eyelids.

When the kiss ends, Connor looks up at him with his face flushed, adoration clear in his eyes.  “It’s okay, Hank,” he whispers, gently wiping the tears from his face with a thumb.

Hank sniffs, giving Connor a self-deprecating grin.  “Yeah,” he replies, pressing a kiss to Connor’s cheek.  “It’s just… a lot.” It’s been years since Hank’s had sex, and he can’t recall it ever feeling… quite like this.  This _meaningful._  

_Jesus, balls deep in your gorgeous boyfriend and here come the waterworks_ , he thinks.  He kisses a slow trail over Connor’s jaw and down his neck, trying to calm down.  A few steadying breaths later and he pulls back, looking into Connor’s eyes. “Are you ready?” he asks, stroking his cheek gently.

Connor nuzzles his face into Hank’s large palm and then nods.  “Move,” he says softly, and Hank follows his command, pulling out of him at an agonizingly slow pace, leaving nothing but the head of his cock inside, before sinking back into him carefully. They're both moaning at the sensation as Hank slowly rocks his hips, shallowly thrusting in and out of him.  He continues the torturously slow pace for a few minutes, letting Connor adjust.

“God, baby…” he groans, between sucking a bruise onto his neck, “you feel so fuckin’ good.”  Connor flushes a deeper red, eyes fluttering closed for a moment.

“So do you,” he breathes. “Fuck I'm. I'm so full. I feel like you're splitting me apart,” and Hank might have worried it was too much for Connor if it wasn't for the absolutely euphoric look on his face and matching tone of voice.  “Go faster,” he urges, and Hank doesn't need to be told twice.

He starts to pick up some speed, thrusting into Connor faster while Connor's legs wrap around him, urging him in deeper as his toes curl in pleasure.  “Mmm, more…” Connor murmurs, his back arching, the friction of Hank's stomach dragging against his cock making him moan. Hank gives him what he wants, adjusting his angle, trying to find -

“Shit, yes, right there,” Connor gasps, and Hank grins, making sure to hit _that spot_ each time he sinks into him. Connor's whining, desperate for more, and fuck, he feels _so good_ that Hank can barely think. “Harder,” Connor begs, mouth hanging open slightly.  Hank nods, pulling out almost completely before slamming back into him, making Connor cry out in ecstasy, his nails scratching down Hank's back.

Hank groans, feeling the scratches Connor leaves behind, leaning down and kissing him as he goes harder and faster.  It’s a messy kiss, and he drags his tongue over the roof of Connor’s mouth before pulling back, breathing heavily and making eye contact as he continues to fuck into Connor’s tight heat.  “Good?” he pants, watching Connor’s face contort with pleasure.

“Jesus, Hank, yes…” Connor whimpers, before dissolving into less coherent noises, barely managing a quiet, “ah!  Ahh!” each time Hank thrusts into him. Hank grins and he pulls out of him completely for a moment, making Connor nearly wail with disappointment.  But Hank’s already repositioning him, hooking Connor’s legs over his arms, holding him wide open, before slamming back into him, even deeper than before.

“Fuuuuck…” Connor moans, arms scrabbling to wrap around Hank, pulling him closer and kissing him sloppily.  Connor’s movements are uncoordinated, and he ends up kissing Hank’s cheeks and chin just as much as his lips.  Hank loves that he’s got Connor so worked up. He continues the steady pistoning of his hips, fucking Connor hard and fast as his lover falls apart, desperate for him.

“Hank, fuck,” he gasps, eyes fluttering shut.  “You’re so - ah! - deep…” he buries his face in Hank’s neck, nearly overwhelmed by the sensation, and Hank grins as the bed frame creaks loudly with his movements.

“Do you like that, baby?” he murmurs, slowing down so he can focus on thrusting into Connor hard and deep, and he’s not disappointed by Connor’s reaction.

“Oh my God,” Connor keens.  “That’s so fucking good, Hank.”  Hank’s glad, because it’s really fucking good for him, too.  Connor’s almost obscenely tight and it makes Hank groan with every slow thrust in and out.

“You feel… fuckin' incredible, honey,” Hank tells him quietly, and Connor makes a noise that is half moan, half sob.  

“Hank, I…” Connor pauses, trying to catch his breath.  He reaches up, cradling his face. “It feels so good. God, I love you.  You’re wonderful.”

Hank’s heart flutters, and suddenly it’s not about the frantic race to climax anymore.  He doesn’t just want to fuck him. He wants to make love to him. _Fuckin’ sappy shit_ , he thinks, as he pulls out of Connor again, lowering the smaller man’s legs and then settling into the cradle of his hips, resting his forehead against Connor’s.

“I love you, too, Connor,” he whispers, and their lips meet in a soft kiss as Hank slides gently back into Connor’s eager body.  Connor moans into his mouth, back arching beautifully.

They kiss slowly, matching the rhythm of their mouths with the now unhurried speed of Hank’s thrusts.  Connor’s running his hands through Hank’s hair, a quiet whimper escaping him every time Hank bottoms out, hitting his prostate.  Hank’s lips venture away from Connor’s, trailing over the younger man’s jaw and then his neck before he sucks on his earlobe, murmuring, “You feel so fuckin’ good. I’m not gonna last much longer.”

Connor lets out a shaky breath and Hank pulls back so he can meet his gaze.  They eye contact feels… very intense. Very intimate. He rocks his hips slowly, arousal building up, steady and constant as he nears the finish.  He’s certain he’s never seen anything as beautiful as this, Connor, below him, skin flushed and damp from their sweat, looking totally fucked out and totally in love.

“You’re so fuckin’ perfect, Connor,” Hank murmurs, the words seeming wholly inadequate at capturing the depth of his feelings for the other man.  Connor whimpers as Hank continues to make love to him, his hands running absently along Hank’s back before one snakes down in between them, wrapping around his own cock.

“Hank…” he groans, slowly stroking himself in time with Hank’s thrusts.

“That’s it, baby,” Hank coos, watching Connor work himself up to the edge.  “Are you gonna come?”

Connor bites his lip, nodding, whining quietly in his throat.  “You first,” he begs, looking like he can’t hold back much longer.  “Inside me.”

“Shit…” Hank swears, picking up speed again.  “Keep touchin’ yourself for me, sweetheart,” and Connor does, trying his hardest to hold off his impending orgasm.

“I want…” Connor gasps as Hank’s movements become more erratic, “I want you to come in me… please… I need it...” and hearing Connor _beg_ for his load finally pushes him over the edge.  Hank grunts, hips stilling, spilling deep into Connor as his orgasm hits him hard.

“Jesus, Connor,” he groans, thrusting into him a few more times, filling him up.  Connor’s working his dick frantically now, breath coming out in short pants, moaning at the feeling of Hank’s release inside of him.

“Hank- yes- I-” he gasps, so close.

“That’s it, Connor,” Hank encourages him, breathing heavily, barely able to hold himself up anymore.  “Come for me, baby,” and Connor cries out, back arching off the bed as he does just that. It’s long and drawn out, all over his hand and their stomachs.  “Fuck, look at all that…” Hank teases him breathlessly, before groaning as Connor clenches around him. Hank’s hips jerk without his permission, and he thrusts into Connor once more with a moan.

Connor sobs out his name, body trembling with aftershocks, and Hank rests his forehead against his, not caring about the mess between them.  “You did so well, baby,” he murmurs, his spent cock still buried inside of him. Connor exhales shakily, wiping his hand on the sheets before grabbing Hank’s face, pulling him close and kissing him slowly.  Time seems to stand still and Hank isn’t aware of anything besides the slide of Connor’s mouth against his, and all the points where their bodies connect.

“God, Connor…” Hank breathes, pulling back and nuzzling their faces together.  Connor hums, clinging to him, chest heaving. Hank presses gentle kisses all over his face, making him smile, before pushing himself up and reluctantly pulling out of him.  Connor groans at the sudden emptiness. Hank knows his partner will definitely be feeling _that_ tomorrow.  “Shhh, I’ll be right back,” he tells him, crawling out of bed.  He’s got Connor’s come spread across his chest and stomach, and as he takes in the sight of his lover he can see he’s in an even more debauched state.

“Don’t move,” he murmurs, hurrying on slightly unsteady legs to the bathroom, cleaning himself off and then getting a warm washcloth to take care of Connor.  

Connor seems to have followed his instructions, because Hank finds him in the exact position he left him, eyes closed, breath finally evening out.  He’s got his legs spread wide, and Hank can see his own release slowly dripping out of him, making a damp spot on their sheets. “Jesus,” Hank groans, and Connor opens his eyes halfway, gazing at him sleepily.

“Hmm?” he teases quietly, opening his legs a bit more in invitation.  Hank sits down on the bed beside him, gently cleaning off his chest and stomach before focusing in at the mess between his thighs.

“You’re a menace,” he growls, sliding two fingers into him, eyes on his face the whole time to make sure it’s not too much.  Connor gasps again, a needy look on his face. “How’s that feel?” Hank asks him quietly, pumping in and out of him slowly, alternating between watching Connor’s expression and watching as his own release is pushed out of Connor around his fingers.

“Mmfph, Hank…” Connor groans, hips rolling ever so slightly, in sync with Hank’s movements. “Really…” he swallows heavily, trying again.  “Really good.” Hank grins, adding a third finger, marveling at how loose and sloppy he’s got Connor now. Connor’s trembling, a hair’s breadth away from being overstimulated, and Hank watches him closely, looking for any sign that it’s becoming unpleasant for him.  Connor seems to really enjoy it, though.

“Ahhh… Hank…” he breathes as he runs his hands back up his own torso, groaning and playing with his nipples.  Hank growls. The slick, obscene sounds as Hank slides his fingers in and out of him are the only thing that can be heard in the quiet room, and Hank thinks he might be enjoying this _too much_.  

“You still okay, sweetheart?” he murmurs, committing everything about this moment to memory.  

“Yes, God..." Connor whimpers. Hank pulls his fingers back out for the last time, cleaning him out as best he can, and before he can reach for the washcloth to wipe his hand Connor’s got ahold of it, sucking his fingers into his mouth and licking them clean.  Hank’s mouth falls open slightly as he watches.

“You’re so gross, Connor,” he tells him with an affectionate smile and Connor grins at him, pulling off of his fingers with a quiet ‘pop’ noise.

“You love it,” he teases, and Hank can’t even deny it.  He tuts quietly, taking the damp cloth and cleaning the remaining mess between Connor’s thighs before crawling back into bed with him, pulling him close so neither of them has to lay in their mess.  He’ll worry about washing their sheets later. Connor snuggles even closer, tangling their legs together. He pillows his head on Hank’s chest, a finger absently tracing the lines of his tattoo.

Hank kisses the top of his head, reaching for his phone on the bedside table and setting an alarm so they’ll have plenty of time to get ready to meet Elijah.  Or Chloe? He’s still not sure what they’re in for later. He gently runs his hand over the bare skin of Connor’s back, trying not to think about the future right now.

“Was that good for you, sweetheart?” Hank asks him quietly.  Connor’s reactions seemed… very positive, but he still wants to be sure.

Connor snorts quietly, pressing a kiss to Hank’s chest.  “It was great, Hank,” he tells him warmly. “I’ve never…” he trails off, unsure how to continue his train of thought.  Hank hums, waiting patiently for him to sort his thoughts out. “I’ve never really… had sex that felt like this.”

“What do you mean?” Hank asks.

He can practically picture the cute frown on Connor’s face as he tries to articulate what he means.  “I guess… it just felt different. Emotional. I’ve never really… been in love before. No one’s ever treated me like I _mattered_ this much.  I haven't had…  the best luck with the guys I've dated in the past.  I never imagined it could be this good.”

Hank thinks he knows _exactly_ what Connor means because that’s _exactly_ what he was thinking earlier.  “I understand,” Hank tells him, conflicting emotions running through his head.  On the one hand, he hates that Connor would have ever been with anyone who didn’t love and appreciate him to the fullest extent, but on the other hand… He’s incredibly happy that he could be the first.

“And,” Connor begins, and Hank can hear the mischievous smile in his voice, “I’ve never had a cock that big before in my _life_.”

Hank grins.  “You took it like a fuckin’ champ, though.”  Connor makes a smug noise and Hank resumes tracing his fingers over his bare back, silence falling between them again.

“You know,” Hank begins conversationally after a minute, “when we first met, I felt a strong connection to you. From the second I saw you at my front door, I wanted you.”

“The feeling was, and still is, mutual, Hank,” Connor tells him.  Hank smiles warmly.

“I know.  You weren’t exactly subtle.”  Connor buries his face against Hank’s chest, hiding a playful grin.  “And it wasn’t just because I thought you were hot. We had been through something so big during our first ever interaction, you literally saved my life… and I didn’t even realize that before I decided I wanted you.”  Connor’s quiet, listening. “And yeah, you looked like something out of my wet dreams, but I didn’t just want you physically. I wanted all of you. And I know we jumped into the physical stuff pretty fast, but I’m glad we waited until we really knew each other before we did _this_ .  Because… I feel like… if we had started all of this by fucking, things could have developed differently.”  Hank still has a hard time expressing his feelings, and he hopes Connor understands what he’s trying to say.  In part because _he’s_ not even sure exactly what he’s trying to say.

Connor exhales, forming his response.  “I think…” he says carefully, “I understand.  Although, I was trying to get you to fuck me from just about the second I moved in.”  Hank laughs loudly, and Connor gives him a sheepish smile. “To be fair, though, I also felt very strongly about you just from the little bit I learned by… reading your note, and being in your home…”  

Hank doesn’t like to think about the first time Connor saw him, dying on his living room floor.  It’s not exactly a fairytale beginning. “But looking back on it now, I have to agree with you. If I had gotten my way that first night… our entire relationship would have felt different, wouldn’t it?” Connor asks.  “Things would have felt more like a one night stand, rather than… what we have now.”

Hank nods, glad Connor can put his jumbled thoughts into words that actually make sense.  “Yeah. That.”

Connor snickers at his inelegant response.  “Indeed.” They lapse into silence for a moment, before Hank speaks again.

“When I… died the first time, Amanda talked a lot about fate and people's destinies being tied together and dramatic shit like that. And when I realized I had feelings for you, it scared me. Our meeting seemed too perfect to be just a coincidence.  I worried that it was 'fate’ and that we didn't have any choice in the matter. And I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.”

Connor frowns, looking at him sympathetically. “I didn't realize you were having those doubts.  You could have told me.”

Hank waves away his concern. “This was before I even told you about…all that shit. And while I was conflicted at first, I've changed my mind now. Maybe it _was_ fate or destiny or whatever that brought us together. Or maybe not. It doesn't really matter. Because even if we were… destined to meet, we fell in love on our own.  And I don't think _anyone_ or _anything_ has any say in who we fall in love with. That's on us.”  Hank looks to the side, embarrassed about being so _emotional_ , and Connor squeezes him tightly.

“That was… incredibly profound.  And very sweet.” Hank grumbles an embarrassed dismissal before Connor continues. “And I agree. Nothing can take away our agency in regards to how we feel.  Feelings are a force much more powerful than even destiny. _We_ can’t even control our feelings.”  Hank can tell Connor's smiling, and even if he isn't 100% convinced by the idea of destiny, he's glad that they're both on the same page.

“Yeah, I'm great at pillow talk” he murmurs before yawning widely. The whole conversation is getting a little too deep for him, so he quickly changes the subject, even though he’s the one who brought it up.  “Now that that's all out of the way, we should rest a little before our big meeting.”

Connor makes a noise of agreement and Hank finds his eyes slipping closed.  They still have time before midnight, and he hears Connor murmur a quiet, “I love you,” as sleep starts to take him.  He hopes he managed a coherent response before losing consciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOOOOOOOOOo boy okay thats fucky but i hope it wasnt also cringy lmao. and of course we can't be fucky wo being also Extremely emotional lol because that is my tru weakness and hankcon r so in love okay dont look at me :P


	41. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> previously: _Connor makes a noise of agreement and Hank finds his eyes slipping closed. They still have time before midnight, and he hears Connor murmur a quiet, “I love you,” as sleep starts to take him. He hopes he managed a coherent response before losing consciousness._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok we r gettin to the beginning of the end!!!!!!!!!!!!! just a short filler chapter before we start wrappin things up!~

Hank feels like he just fell asleep when the alarm on his phone goes off, pulling him back into the waking world.  Groaning, he reaches blindly for the bedside table, feeling around for the offending object. Connor’s still pressed up against him, face buried against his neck, and he whines as Hank shifts, disturbing him.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” Hank mumbles, shutting off the alarm and settling back into bed, wrapping his arms around Connor.  “You can snooze for a few more minutes if you want.” Connor grumbles something unintelligible and his breathing evens back out almost immediately.  Hank chuckles quietly, kissing the top of Connor’s head before subtly adjusting his hair, righting it after it shifted out of place during their lovemaking and subsequent sleeping.

Their room smells like sweat and sex, and Hank feels a bit of an ache in muscles he isn’t accustomed to using as vigorously as he did.  But it’s a good ache, a satisfying ache that reminds him of what he shared with Connor just a few hours prior. He lets the other man doze for a few more minutes before rousing him, a hand rubbing his back gently.

“Hey,” he murmurs, as Connor just curls closer to him, whining.  “Come on, babe, you gotta get up now. We gotta go meet Chloe.” He feels Connor sigh heavily against his neck and laughs, rolling over onto his side so they’re face to face.  “Wake up,” he breathes before tracing a hand over Connor’s jaw and then slotting their lips together, kissing him slowly.

Little by little, Connor becomes more aware, and eventually Hank feels him respond, kissing back lazily and exhaling happily through his nose.  Finally satisfied, Hank pulls back from the kiss, pressing their foreheads together.

“There you are,” he says quietly as Connor blearily opens his eyes, smiling sleepily at him.

“Hank,” Connor breathes out his name in a happy sigh, a hand coming up to push some hair out of his face.  Brown eyes meet blue, and Connor gives him another smile, looking content. Hank wishes they could just stay in bed, rather than go out and face whatever’s waiting for them in apartment 5.

“You okay?” Hank murmurs, sliding a hand gently down Connor’s back, rubbing soothing circles just above the swell of his ass.

“I feel great,” Connor tells him, eyes fluttering closed, a pleased purr rumbling in his chest.

Hank chuckles.  “You say that now, but you might change your tune once you get out of bed,” he teases, fairly certain Connor is going to be sore.

Connor grins sleepily, opening his eyes.  “I hope so. I want to… feel it.”

Hank snorts.  “Of course you do.”  He pulls Connor in for another kiss before reluctantly throwing the blankets off of them, mourning the loss of their warmth.  Connor whines yet again, plastering himself to Hank’s body, trying to soak up his heat. Hank shakes his head affectionately.

“Come on, baby,” he coaxes, sitting up and dragging Connor along with him.  “We have just enough time to hop in the shower real quick if you don’t wanna show up to your confrontation with Elijah covered in jizz.”  Hank can already tell that his precursory cleaning of them before they went to sleep was not nearly enough.

Connor sits on the edge of the bed, looking like he’s actually contemplating if he wants to do just that.  Hank laughs and urges Connor to his feet. Connor stands, and about halfway up lets out a satisfied groan, leaning into Hank’s side.

“Oh…” he breathes, and Hank gives him a sympathetic laugh, rubbing his lower back soothingly.

“You need me to carry you to the bathroom?” he teases, and before Connor even has a chance to answer he’s swept up into Hank’s arms.  He lets out a surprised squeak before laughing delightedly, throwing his own arms around Hank’s neck and kissing him quickly.

“My hero,” he says playfully, making Hank grin.  He tries to ignore just how light and insubstantial his lover actually feels.

“‘S’ the least I can do after wreckin’ your ass like that,” he murmurs into Connor’s ear, making him blush.  After a moment he falls serious. “Really though, are you okay? I wasn’t too rough, was I?” The last thing he wants to do is tease Connor if he’s really hurting.

Connor quickly shakes his head.  “I’m fine Hank, I swear. That was… _you_ were incredible.”  Hank flushes but grins at the praise.

“Good,” he says, kissing Connor’s cheek.  “I wanna take care of you. Want it to be good for you.”

“Well, it _definitely_ was,” Connor assures him, looking him right in the eye and leaving no room for doubt.  “That was, without exaggeration, the best sex I’ve ever had, and I cannot wait to do it again.”

Hank smiles, glad to have made Connor feel good.  “Same here, babe,” he tells him, as he carries him out of their room and towards the bathroom.  “Whenever you want. And however you want. It doesn’t always have to be…” he trails off, slightly embarrassed as Connor tilts his head in question.  “I’m not hard set on what position I’m in, is all I’m saying.”

Connor’s eyes widen as he takes in what Hank’s getting at.  “You’d… you’d let me fuck you?”

Hank frowns.  “Of course, Con.”  He sets him down gently on the floor, turning on the shower and waiting for the hot water to slowly make its way through the old pipes.  “Why wouldn’t I?”

Connor’s smiling affectionately at him, blushing slightly.  “It’s just… not something I’m used to. Most men see me and assume…”  Hank gives him a look of understanding, cupping his cheek gently.

“I know what you mean,” he murmurs, and Connor gives him a slightly guilty look.

“And I just did the same thing to you, didn’t I?” he asks rhetorically.  Hank laughs.

“S’okay,” he tells him, running a thumb gently over his cheek.  “We don’t have to talk about it now, I just wanted you to know that… I’d enjoy either.  With you.” He leans in and kisses Connor gently before sticking a hand into the shower, finally satisfied that the water is warm.  “Now come on, let's hurry up and get clean, we got shit to do.

 

* * *

 

After showering, the two of them dress quietly, lost in thought.  Connor seems to be overflowing with nervous energy, and Hank takes him gently into his arms.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he murmurs into his hair.  Connor clings to him and nods.

“I just… I can’t believe that I’m finally going to face the person who killed my brother.  I’ve been thinking about it for months, and now that it’s here… I’m drawing a blank,” Connor sighs, rubbing his face against Hank’s shirt.  Hank sways them gently back and forth where they stand, trying to soothe his worries.

“Whatever happens, I’m gonna be with you.  We’ll get this over with tonight, and hopefully… you’ll have the closure you need,” he replies, kissing his temple.

Connor nods, pulling out of Hank’s embrace carefully.  “Can I have… just a few moments?” he asks. Hank’s face softens.

“Of course, baby,” he tells him, kissing him gently before exiting the room, giving Connor time to gather his thoughts.  In the living room, he collapses onto the sofa, pulling on his boots while Sumo watches him from his doggy bed with limited interest.  

A few minutes later he hears Connor’s soft footfalls as he exits their room and heads towards him in the living room.  Connor leans over the back of the sofa and wraps his arms around Hank’s shoulders, nuzzling his face into his hair. Hank smiles softly.

“Ready?” he asks Connor, tilting his head up.  

“As I’ll ever be,” Connor answers, cradling his face and leaning down to peck his lips gently.  The angle is awkward, upside down, but still incredibly sweet.

“Well then,” says Hank, standing up from the sofa and glancing at the clock, “let’s do this.”  He offers Connor his hand, and the smaller man interlaces their fingers, gripping tightly. At 11:57 pm they make their way out of the apartment.

 

* * *

 

Just a floor below, in the dark basement, a woman cries weakly.  She’s so tired… she can’t eat anymore…

Another woman shushes her gently, stroking her cheek.  

“Don’t worry, my love,” she coos, trying to comfort her.  “It’s just you and me now. No one will find us. The monster… won’t find us.”  She pushes her blue hair out of her face, offering her partner more of the meal she’s prepared for her.  

The first woman whimpers weakly, refusing to consume any more of it.  The blue haired woman sighs sadly, rising to her feet and making her way to the machine in the corner.

“I’m gonna make you all better, Tracy,” she promises, before flicking the switch.  Tracy screams as electricity courses through her veins, but no one can hear her behind the freshly laid bricks in the basement.

When the screaming subsides, the second woman is unconscious.  The blue haired woman sighs, sliding down the wall and curling in on herself.

“Don’t worry, my love…” she repeats quietly.  “We’re safe here… in our own little quiet haven.  Tears silently stream down her cheeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok ill try to post the rest soon, thanks as always if u read i rly appreciate it! come talk to me on twitter!!!  
> also if u like sims and hankcon.............. u should follow my [OTHER dbh twitter](https://twitter.com/gaydeviantsims) lol


	42. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg ok im gonna!!! post the rest now. i wanna get this FINISHED and OUT THERE and not feel like i have it hanging over me. i wanna be able to post one shots as i feel like it!!! maybe ill even.......................... try some canonverse one day..............
> 
> uhhh some character death in this one, one temporary and one permanent!!!

Hank and Connor make it to the 3rd floor just as the clock strikes midnight.  The door to apartment 5 is slightly ajar, and they stand on the threshold uncertainly.

“Should we… knock?” Connor asks quietly, his grip on Hank’s hand so tight it’s almost painful.

Hank contemplates that for a moment before shaking his head.  “Nah. She knows we’re here. And I think the time for politeness has long passed, don’t you?”  Hank looks to Connor to make sure he’s in agreement before pushing the door open roughly, and the two of them make their way into the eerily quiet apartment.

No one’s there to greet them, and Connor is momentarily distracted by a large aquarium in the living room.  “Look, Hank,” he breathes, leaning down to examine it. He frowns in disappointment when there are no fish to be seen swimming within.  Two large tanks are connected to it with hoses. The whole thing makes Hank uneasy, and he gently tugs on Connor’s hand to urge him forward, silently vowing to buy him some fuckin’ fish.

Past the tank, a metal door covered in ‘private’ and ‘do not enter’ signs sits to their left.  Hank frowns, wondering how someone even got something like that installed in their building. It’s even more over the top than the Eden’s lock.

“Jesus, look at this door,” Hank mutters, keeping Connor close to his side.  “What kind of fuckin’ psycho needs a door like this?” Connor takes it in, lips pursed tight.

“Probably a psycho who likes goading people into killing themselves on the internet,” he says.   _Fair enough._

A noise from up ahead startles them, and Connor tugs Hank forward.  “I think there’s someone in the kitchen,” he hisses. Hank nods, keeping pace with Connor, and as the two of them enter the kitchen, they’re greeted by Chloe.  She’s standing motionlessly in the center of the room, hands folded demurely in front of her. Her gaze is focused on the floor, but slowly she looks up, taking them in.  A melancholy air surrounds her.

Hank shifts so he’s slightly in front of Connor, and the younger man allows it.  He can feel Connor’s hand trembling in his own as his partner finally gets to ask his question.

“Are you… are you Elijah?” Connor asks, and Hank gives his hand a gentle squeeze in a silent show of support.

Chloe frowns.  “Me? No, of course not,” she says, shifting her blonde hair over her shoulder.  “I don’t have anything to do with this. I never have. I’ve told him… over and over… but he never listens…”

She turns, walking away from them and leaning against the counter, using it to support herself.  She seems visibly shaken. “I’ve done my best… I tried so hard. I love him. But it just isn’t enough.”

The two of them frown at her back, exchanging confused glances.  

“Well, where is he, then?” Connor asks.  “Where is ‘The Eye of Elijah’?” No one can miss the bitter sarcasm when Connor says his name.

Chloe sighs.  “In his room, of course.  Where else would he be?” she asks rhetorically.  “He’s always in his room… just staring at the computer screen…”  

She whirls back around suddenly, and crosses the room, looking determined.  Hank quickly steps between her and Connor, and she backs off, holding her hands up in a show of innocence.

“I’ve made up my mind,” she tells them, fire in her eyes.  “I want to help you. This has all gone way too far. I can’t be part of it!”

“What do you mean?” Connor questions, peeking out from behind Hank.

“You don’t understand!” Chloe sounds scared now.  “He can see us. Right now. With his cameras. He’s very clever.”  She bites her lip. “I never really understood it, to be honest. I can barely even turn on a computer.  But he… he can do anything.”

Chloe’s ominous tone is making Hank nervous, and he considers taking Connor and leaving.  Before he can voice his thoughts, though, the smaller man pipes up.

“Can you get us into his room?” he pleads.  “I just want to talk to him. I _need_ to talk to him.”

“Listen to me!” Chloe hisses.  “You don’t want to go in there!  It’s a trap. He _knows_ why you’re here.  And he _will_ kill you.  He’ll kill both of you!”  She glances around, looking panicked.  Hank feels the same. “But he won’t kill me,” Chloe continues.  “He wouldn’t dare. All these years… I’ve taken care of him.” She looks down at the ground, and when she speaks again her voice trembles.

“It breaks my heart to do this,” she tells them.  She turns away from them again and grabs a cardboard box sitting on the counter.  Clutching it close to her chest, she crosses the room and stands in front of Hank.

“He left me this.  I’m supposed to keep it.”  She looks directly into Hank’s eyes as she extends her arms, offering him the box.  “I want you to take it, though. He wouldn’t dare kill his own…” she trails off, sadly.  “I don’t even know what I am to him, anymore,” she whispers, almost like she’s talking to herself.  “But I won’t let him kill anyone else.”

Hank has to let go of Connor’s hand to take the box, and he does so with great hesitance.  “What is it?” he asks Chloe suspiciously. She shoves the box into Hank’s hands with impatience.

“Just take it!” she exclaims.  “Don’t you understand? He’s _watching._  There isn’t much time!”  Her agitation gets Hank on high alert.

“What _is it_ , Hank?” Connor says quietly, a hand gently gripping Hank’s bicep.

“It’s a shoebox,” Hank answers dumbly, trying to work out what, exactly, is going on, unsure if it’s wise to open it or not.

“Take it away!  You have to get rid of it!”  Chloe tells them. “He has to see that I don’t have it anymore.  Then everything will be okay.” Chloe sounds like she’s trying to convince herself as much as them.

After a brief moment of contemplation, Hank slowly takes the lid off the shoebox.  A black gasmask sits within it, blank eyeholes staring directly back at him. Hank’s heart speeds up as he begins to understand.  Connor’s grip tightens on his arm.

“Shit, Con…  We gotta get outta here.  Right now.” Hank says, turning quickly and grabbing Connor’s arm.

“Hank, what’s wrong-?”

“He’s gonna poison us,” Hank cuts him off.  Connor’s eyes widen in realization, but before the two of them even make it into the living room, the tanks attached to the glass aquarium drain into it, mixing the exact chemicals Hank used to kill Ortiz into a deadly cocktail.  

“Shit!”  Hank curses, pulling Connor close to him.  “Fuckin’ shit!”

“Stop it, Elijah!”  Chloe yells, looking terrified.  “You’re going to kill _me_?”

Connor grips a handful of Hank’s shirt tightly, looking scared.  “What are we going to do? We’ll never make it to the front door in time, the room is filling up with gas too quickly!”  He looks around the kitchen, and then at Hank, seeming to come to a decision.

“Put the mask on, darling,” he says quietly, a hand coming up to cup his cheek.

Hank sputters.  “Like hell! I’ll be fine!  You put the fuckin’ thing on.”  

Connor shakes his head vehemently.  “What if it doesn’t work this time?”  He sounds on the verge of a panic attack.  “What if you don’t come back? I can’t…”

Hank grabs Connor’s hand, looking into his eyes.  “Listen to me. I’ll be fine. I promise.” He knows, though, that despite witnessing Hank’s resurrection with his own eyes Connor still has a hard time coming to terms with the fact that he’s immortal.  Hank understands his panic.

Connor’s eyes dart to the side.  “Then give it to Chloe. I’ll be dead in four months anyway, it’s not fair to her…”

Hank knows that what Connor’s saying makes sense logically, but there is no way in hell that he’s going to allow it.  She made the choice to help Elijah, and he’s not about to let Connor suffer the consequences. Time’s running out, and he simply shakes his head before putting the mask on Connor, leaving no room for argument.

“Hank!” the smaller man cries out as Hank wrestles him into the mask.  It’s already getting harder to breathe, and he can hear Chloe gasping behind him.

Connor makes a frustrated noise, but he knows now that it’s too late to go back.  He wraps his arms around Hank tightly, and Hank holds him close as Chloe chokes behind them.  Idly, he wonders if this is what it was like when Cole died. Perhaps he deserves this.

“Hey, Con,” he manages to wheeze out.  “Think of a vegetable while I’m gone.” He gives Connor what he hopes is a reassuring smile, and Connor makes a noise that sounds like something between a laugh and a sob.  

They hear Chloe’s body hit the floor, and Hank can’t seem to stay standing any longer.  He sinks to his knees, dragging Connor with him, and Connor’s trembling as he gently cards his fingers through Hank’s long hair, holding him while he dies.

_Don’t worry,_ Hank says.  Or maybe he thinks it.  He’s not so sure anymore.   _I’ll always come back for you._

 

* * *

 

He’s back in the wheat field again.  The place where this all started. But things seem… different, now.  He doesn’t feel the strange sense of _wrongness_ that surrounded him his first time here.  The lighting is different, too. The sun seems to have set, and in the twilight of the early evening, everything looks softer.  Almost welcoming. Hank knows the deal by now and starts walking, wondering what he’ll find this time.

The wheat sways in the breeze as Hank makes his way through it, and again he loses all track of time as he continues walking.  At one point he’s sure he’s passing through the ruins of his apartment, but before he really has time to examine it, Amanda’s cabin comes into view.  And standing in front of it, waiting for him, is the woman herself. She gives him a smile, and for once, it seems genuine.

“Welcome home, darling,” she says in greeting, as Hank comes to a stop in front of her.  The roses that wind around the front porch are different, too. Blooming and vibrant. “I’ve been waiting for you.  What took you so long?”

Hank frowns, looking at her in disbelief.  “As if you don’t know _everything_ that’s gone on since we first met.”

She smiles indulgently and turns, walking up the porch stairs and beckoning him to follow.  “Come. I won’t keep you long. There is just one last thing we need to do.” He follows her into her rundown cabin, and they pass straight through the entryway and into the hall of candles.  Only two remain burning.

“You have done so well, Hank.  Worked so hard,” she tells him.  “So different from the Hank I first met.  What changed, I wonder?”

Hank rolls his eyes.  “You know damn well what changed.”

She grins, folding her arms across her chest.  “Yes. I did tell you, didn’t I? You tried your very best, and worked hard, all without the promise of a reward.  And you found something that changed your life forever.”

Hank’s face heats up slightly, but he can’t help the small smile that forms on his lips at the thought of Connor.

“I must admit,” Amanda continues, “I did not see things playing out… exactly the way they did.  You surprised me. You both did. I like that. I am not often surprised.”

Hank shoves his hands into his pockets, unsure what to do with the praise.  Amanda gestures to the two remaining candles. “And now, you just have to make one final decision.  Blow one out. A soul for a soul.”

Hank glances at her out of the corner of his eye.  “That’s it?” he asks. “I blow one more out and I don’t have to see you ever again?”

Amanda gives him a sly grin.  “If you choose the right one. But if you choose wrong… the life that will be extinguished will be your own.”

Hank scowls at her.  “Ah, there’s the maggot queen I’m familiar with.  Always playin’ these fuckin’ games. And how the fuck am I supposed to know which is the right one?”

“Well, that’s just the thing, Hank,” Amanda murmurs, looking contemplative.  “You can’t know that.”

“No, of course not,” Hank grumbles, annoyed but not surprised.

“In life, you cannot always know the consequences before you make a decision.  Haven’t you learned that by now?” Amanda chides him.

“Well, that’s not fuckin’ fair,” Hank shoots back.

Amanda sighs.  “ _Nothing_ is _fair_ , Hank.  You opened up to that doctor at the hospital, and what did he do?”  Hank shudders, thinking back to Doctor Z. Amanda nods wisely. “And then, that disgusting cannibal.  He would have chopped you up and eaten you for dinner if he’d had the chance. And let's not forget about poor little H.K., under his spell.”

Hank exhales loudly through his nose in annoyance, but she’s not done yet.

“What about Michael?” she says coyly, raising her eyebrows.  “He said he loved you, and yet he killed you the first chance he got.  Obsession is not love. He would have killed your lover, too, if he’d gotten the chance.  After forcing himself upon him.” Hank feels a hot spike of anger, glad that bastard is dead.

“You did not deserve any of that,” says Amanda gently.  “And yet, it happened. Am I forgetting anything?” When Hank doesn’t answer, she continues.  “Ah, yes, the greatest unfairness of all. What happened to little Cole-”

“Enough!” Hank shouts, cutting her off, taking a step closer.  “I think I know who you _really_ are, now.”  Amanda tilts her head, inviting him to continue.  “All those shitty feelings I’ve had for years… the guilt and the self-pity… the hate I got for myself and for everyone around me.  That’s you. That miserable fuckin’ illness. Like a dark cloud I can’t see through. And I just let it happen. Thought I deserved to feel like shit.  But you know what? I don’t.”

Except… she doesn’t seem like that anymore.  Something’s changed. Or maybe lots of things have.

Amanda smiles and claps slowly for him.  “Impressive, Hank.”

Hank glares.  “So, we’re done.  This ends here. I’m not doin’ it anymore.”

Amanda gives him a pitying glance.  “I’m afraid it’s not that easy, Hank.”

“Maybe not,” Hank relents.  “But I’m not gonna fuckin’ let you control me anymore.”

Amanda smiles again.  “Good. Then, by all means, blow out a candle.”  She gestures grandly to the two remaining flames, awaiting his decision.

Hank glances back and forth between them but shakes his head after a moment.  “No,” he tells her.

“No?” she repeats in surprise, the corner of her mouth ticking up slightly.

“I’m _not_ letting you control me anymore,”  he repeats. He feels good in his decision, confident he made the right choice.

Amanda walks closer to him, and with a wave of her hand produces a single rose.  Red and vibrant, absolutely perfect. “You are very interesting, Hank,” she says, offering it to him.  “I hope you have learned to appreciate the flowers again.”

As Hank’s hand closes around the stem, the hall of candles starts to grow fuzzy, and he knows he’s about to come back to life.  The smell of the rose is overpowering, and yet, it doesn’t fill him with dread as it would have a few months ago. As the queen’s realm fades away, he hears her voice, a whisper all around him and yet only in his mind.

_You will have your reward._

And then, Hank’s alive again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmmm so the queen of maggots is implied to be, at least in part, a manifestation of susans depression, and im goin for that here, too, but i didnt want to make her as Obviously evil. like, i think its perfectly possible to have an amicable relationship w ur depression and manage it but IDK maybe thats just me but regardless i hope that came thru and i managed to portray that.


	43. Interlude VI

The first thing Hank is aware of as he’s resurrected is the feeling of Connor’s fingers gently carding through his hair.  He inhales deeply, slowly opening his eyes, and is startled by the gasmask staring blankly back at him. However, Connor rips it off of his face seconds later and throws it to the side, tears streaming out of his big, brown eyes.

“Hank…” he breathes, a trembling hand stroking his face.  Hank’s head is pillowed on Connor’s lap, and they’re still in the kitchen, so he figures he hasn’t been dead for too long.

“Hey, baby,” he rasps, smiling up at him.  Connor chokes out a quiet sob, leaning down crashing their lips together.  Hank sighs happily against his mouth, ignoring everything else but Connor’s tongue sliding against his own.

Connor pulls back, still looking at him like he can’t believe his eyes.  “Hey, it’s okay,” Hank tells him quietly. “I’m here.” He reaches up to wipe the tears off of Connor’s face and is startled when he realizes he still clutches that perfect rose in his fist.  “Huh…” he murmurs, setting it to the side, pushing himself into a sitting position and taking Connor into his arms. Connor collapses against his chest, clinging to him, burying his face in Hank’s neck.

Hank gently rubs Connor’s back, peppering kisses over any bit of his face that he can get at.  Connor exhales shakily, looking up at Hank and meeting his gaze. Hank presses one last kiss to his forehead and then gives him a gentle smile.

“We’re you thinkin’ of a tomato?” Hank asks, and Connor looks confused for a second before laughing weakly, shaking his head.

“A tomato is a fruit, Hank…” he groans, sounding a bit hysterical, and Hank knows he’s still in disbelief.  Hank snorts, nudging him playfully.

“But it’s what you were thinkin’ of, wasn’t it?” he teases, and Connor shakes his head in denial.

“No, I was thinking of an onion, actually,” Connor tells him seriously.

Hank wipes a stray tear from his partner’s cheek, smiling affectionately.  “Oh yeah? Why an onion?”

Connor nuzzles his face against Hank’s hand, closing his eyes.  “Because they’re the saddest of all vegetables. They make people cry.”

Hank rubs a thumb over Connor’s sharp cheekbone.  “Well, I hope you never have to cry over some old onion ever again,” he says quietly, and Connor hums softly, opening his eyes and leaning back, loosening his hold on Hank slightly.

“Please stop dying,” he says, and Hank sighs.

“I’ll do my best,” he promises, picking the rose up off the floor and looping it through Connor’s top buttonhole.  Connor looks at it curiously, a finger running over its vibrant petals.

“Where did this come from?” he asks, and Hank just smiles.

“I’ll tell you about it later.  Right now, we got other shit to deal with.”  Exhaling deeply, he pushes himself to his feet and offers Connor a hand up.  The memory of their first meeting flashes through his mind as Connor’s hand slips into his.  With a playful grin, he pulls Connor to his feet with a bit more enthusiasm than necessary, and the smaller man stumbles briefly before Hank’s hands are on his waist, stabilizing him.

Connor shakes his head, hands resting against Hank’s chest.  “This feels a little familiar,” he murmurs with a small smile.  Hank squeezes his waist gently and kisses his forehead, but then he catches sight of Chloe’s lifeless body laying on the floor behind them and the reality of their situation rushes back to him.

“Ah, shit,” he mutters, and Connor follows his gaze, face falling.

“Why would he do this?” he asks Hank quietly.  Hank wishes he had an answer. He sighs, wrapping an arm around Connor’s shoulders, leading him from the kitchen.

“I dunno, baby.  But we’re gonna try to find out.”  Hank knows he should be calling the station right about now, but he wants to give Connor his chance at talking to Elijah before everything goes to hell.  He eyes the fish tank warily as they enter the living room, but it seems to be out of commission. The metal security door has opened, and Hank knows Elijah is expecting them.

“You ready?” he asks Connor in a soft voice, and Connor hesitates for a moment before nodding.  As the two of them step through the doorway their hands link together, ready for whatever comes next.


	44. Chapter 44

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this almost feels too short to be the final chapter, all that build up and then........... its done! but im pretty pleased w it and cant rly think of anything else to add, so i hope u like it!

The room they enter is dark, the only light coming from the numerous computer screens that take up the majority of the far wall.  A few of the screens show live video feeds of various locations throughout the apartment, and Hank quickly averts his eyes from the one in the kitchen.  There’s no question that Elijah had a front row seat to his and Chloe’s deaths. An office chair is parked in front of the monitors, the back of the occupant’s head visible.  Hank and Connor stop halfway across the room.

“So, are you _The Eye of Elijah_?” Connor asks, disdain dripping from the title.  Silence, and then a quiet laugh as the chair swivels around and the room lights up.  Hank squeezes Connor’s hand gently as they come face to face with the man responsible for his brother’s death.

Hank’s first thought when he sees Elijah is _that’s it?_ The man doesn’t seem like much, pale and thin, with dark hair knotted on top of his head.  Elijah’s eyes are bloodshot, probably from staring at computer screens all day. He stands up and makes his way slowly across the room towards them, and Hank tenses, ready to protect Connor if it comes down to that.  Elijah gives them a grin as he stops in front of them, studying them.

“We meet at last,” he says quietly, eyes running over Connor.   

“That’s a yes, then?” Connor bites out, looking ready to fight.  “You know who I am. You know what you’ve done to me.”

“That was a very interesting trick out there, lieutenant,” Elijah says, ignoring Connor and focusing in on Hank.  “You should be dead, really. And I think you were. But now you’re not.”

Hank scoffs.  “Maybe you’re just not as good at killing people as you’d like to think you are.”

Elijah laughs and gestures towards the monitor that shows the kitchen, Chloe’s lifeless body clearly visible, her dead eyes staring right at them.

Connor makes an incredulous noise.  “How could you _do_ that?  She cared for you.  And you killed her like she meant nothing!”

“Gavin was right,” Elijah continues, attention shifting back to Connor but ignoring his words.  “You _are_ pretty.  I hadn’t realized…” he tilts his head to the side, still examining Connor, a hand reaching out and cupping his cheek gently.  “Extraordinary.”

Connor flinches back and Hank makes an angry noise, pulling Connor closer.  “Don’t you fuckin’ touch him. And what does Reed have to do with any of this?”

Elijah chuckles, amused.  “He’s over here all the time.  He usually talks about you quite a bit, lieutenant,” he says in his quiet voice.  “But today it was all about ‘Anderson’s pretty little boytoy.’ He’s always wanted what he can’t have.  And he’s wanted you for quite some time. But now Connor’s in the way. Which makes this even better for me, really.”

Hank has no idea how this conversation got _so_ off topic _so_ quickly.  He can’t even spare more than a passing thought about Connor’s suspicions about Gavin being correct and instead focuses on the other information that Elijah’s statement offers up.

“So Reed’s involved with all this… cowardly _bullshit_ too?” Hank asks aggressively.  He wouldn’t mind taking Gavin down with this prick.

Elijah smiles and shakes his head.  “No, of course not. Gavin has no idea.  He’s not smart enough. But, little brothers, you know…” he trails off, raising his eyebrows at Connor in a challenge.  “We do whatever we can to take care of them. Some of us just actually succeed.”

Connor makes an angry, strangled noise and pulls away from Hank.  Hank’s still trying to register the fact that he’s apparently been working with this guy’s _brother_ all these years, and then Connor’s pulling a gun from the waistband of his jeans, pointing it Elijah.  Hank’s jaw drops, recognizing it as his own police issued gun.

“Connor,” he says weakly, “what are you doing?”  He thinks back to Connor asking for some time alone before they left, and realizes this must have been what he was really up to.  Connor’s hand trembles slightly, and Elijah just grins, a gleeful look sparkling in his blue eyes.

“What do you _think_ I’m doing, Hank?” Connor hisses.  “I’m doing what needs to be done. You _knew_ this was coming, there’s no way you _actually_ thought I just wanted to _talk_ to him.”  

“Yeah, of course not, babe, but-”

“You’re a fucking _monster_ ,” Connor cuts Hank off, glaring at Elijah, voice steady despite the shaking of his hands.  “You killed my brother, and for what? What could you _possibly_ have gotten out of it?”

Elijah shrugs.  “Pull the trigger and you’ll find out,” he tells him cryptically, still smiling.  

Hank’s conflicted.  He’d told himself that he’d support Connor no matter what he did when they found Elijah, but now, standing here and watching his partner point a gun at the other man’s head, something feels wrong.  He doesn’t want Connor to have to shoulder this burden.

“Connor,” Hank tries again.  “Don’t.”

Connor’s shoulders tense.  “How can you say that Hank?” he asks, sounding betrayed.  “You said he’d get what was coming to him. This is what he deserves.”

Hank takes a cautious step closer.  He can’t see Connor’s face, so he’s going to have to go about this carefully.  “I know,” he murmurs. “But it’s also what he wants. Look at him. He’s lost it.  You’d be playing right into his hands, letting him talk you into something you wouldn’t normally do.  He’s just a miserable bastard. He gets off on this. Don’t let him get in your head.”

“Pull the trigger, Connor,” Elijah taunts again.  “You’ll be dead in a few months anyway, what’s the worst that could happen?  And then you’ll get _all_ the answers you crave.”  

“Don’t listen to him, Con,” Hank talks over him loudly.  “It’ll change you.” He takes another step closer, almost able to touch him.

Elijah laughs quietly.  “You’re just like Niles,” he says, and Connor sucks in a sharp breath.  “Weak. Letting other people tell you what to do. Not thinking for yourself.  It was almost too easy, really. He was _so_ desperate, it was pathetic.   _He_ was pathetic.”

Hank knows it's going to happen, but he still doesn’t react fast enough to stop Connor as he pulls the trigger.  He changes his target at the last second, though, and the bullet doesn’t kill Elijah, tearing through his knee and absolutely shattering it instead.  He falls heavily to the ground, unable to stay standing, blood pouring from the wound. And yet, he’s still grinning.

“Jesus, Connor!” Hank exclaims, flinching.  Connor stands over Elijah, gun pointed at him.

“He’s a _parasite_ , Hank,” Connor tells him mechanically.  

“Shit, yeah, I know, but please, let's just think about this for a minute, okay?”  Hank sees Connor’s arm tremble, and he knows he’s getting through to him, at least a little.  “Can I touch you?” he asks quietly.

Connor takes a moment to respond but then nods sharply once, and Hank closes the remaining distance between them, fingers curling around Connor’s forearm.  “Baby, please,” Hank murmurs, staring hard at his face. “You don’t have to do this. He’s not worth it.”

“Hank…” Connor replies, sounding uncertain.  “I…”

Elijah’s breathing heavily, in obvious pain, but still staring at them like they’re some sort of science experiment.  Hank ignores him. “Remember that day… when we were lying in bed, and you told me that killing someone, even someone who deserved it, would bother you?”  He rubs his thumb in gentle circles on Connor’s arm, trying to calm him down. “You weren’t wrong, you know. Even if it seems like the right thing to do, it still feels like shit.”

A tear runs down Connor’s face, but he doesn't stop glaring at Elijah.  “Hank but… what about you?” he whispers. Hank knows that technically _he’s_ stuck living as long as Elijah is alive, but that doesn’t seem like as much of a bad thing as it did two months prior.

“I’d think that’d be an added incentive for you,” he tells Connor softly.  “A guarantee.”

Connor lowers his arm slightly.  Good. “But… we can’t just let him go on doing this!  He could hurt more people!”

Hank’s other hand lands gently on Connor’s hip.  “He’s not gonna be able to. He’s gonna go to jail, and he’ll never be able to touch a computer again.  Killing Chloe is enough to put him away for life if we play our cards right. I’ll make sure of it.”

Connor trembles.  “I…”

“Connor,” Hank’s got one more idea, and he knows it’s risky, but it’s a risk he’s willing to take.  “Would Niles want you to become a murderer? Would he want you to compromise your morals over a piece of shit like this?”

Connor can no longer keep his tears at bay, and they run freely down his face.  “No, of course not,” he replies tightly. “Niles was a good person. He wouldn’t have wanted that.”  

Hank nods encouragingly.  “That’s right. He wouldn’t have wanted that for you.  And neither do I.” There’s a very tense moment, and then Connor slowly lowers the gun.  Hank sighs out in relief and runs his hand down Connor’s arm, gently extracting the gun from his hand and tucking it into his own jeans.  He pulls Connor into his arms, and the smaller man sags against him, burying his face in his chest.

“Shh…” Hank murmurs, gently rubbing his back as Connor clings to him, crying quietly.  “I got you.”

He’d almost forgotten Elijah was there, but the third man doesn’t let his presence go unnoticed.  “Fascinating,” he mutters quietly, staring at them. Hank glares at him but murmurs quietly to Connor instead.

“Say what you need to say to him.  He’s not going anywhere. He has to listen.”

Connor takes a deep breath, pulling out of Hank’s embrace just enough to face Elijah.  Hank’s arms circle his waist loosely, and he waits while Connor gathers his thoughts.

“There was a lot I wanted to say to you,” he tells Elijah.  “You ruined my life. All I wanted to do was find you. And kill you.  Because for so long I thought that was what I needed. That was all that mattered because you killed my brother.”

Elijah has his hands wrapped around his mangled knee, and he looks even paler than he did when they first entered.  He’s started to sweat, possibly going into shock, but he still manages to smirk at Connor.

“Your brother killed himself.  You should be thanking me, I made sure he didn’t suffer.  It was quick. Painless. And he really wanted you to go with him.”  His voice is weak and trembling, and Hank knows he’s got to get the medics here soon.  But he’s going to let Connor finish, first.

Connor sighs angrily but doesn’t rise to the bait.  “I thought my life was over when Niles died. And then I found you, but more importantly, I found Hank.  So you might have taken everything from me, but that didn’t last. I’ve got someone who cares about me, and that’s more than you can say.  You’re pathetic. And now you’ve got _no one._  You’ll spend the rest of your life in jail, and no one will even care.”  Hank smiles gently at Connor, but the other man doesn’t notice, still focused on Elijah.

Elijah coughs weakly, giving Connor a weak grin.  “Maybe I’ll spend the rest of my life in jail, but at least I _have_ a life left to live.  Unlike you.” Hank tenses, but still Connor doesn’t sink to the other man’s level.

Connor shrugs.  “I might not have a lot of time left, but I’m going to make the most of it, and I’ll be able to rest easy knowing that you’re _rotting_ in jail.  And you know what, that’s good enough for me.  Better than good, even.” Connor pauses and takes one final deep breath.  “Also… you’re a pathetic excuse for a human being and I fucking hate you.”  With that, he sags against Hank, finally having said what he needed to say. Hank kisses his temple and fires off a text to Fowler, telling him to send some officers and a medic to their building.

“Come on, sweetheart,” Hank says to Connor quietly.  “It’s been a long day. Let’s go home. We won.” He hopes this is closure enough for Connor.  He hopes Connor is satisfied with the answers he got. Or didn’t get.

Connor looks up at him, eyes swimming with unshed tears.  “Did we really?” he whispers. Hank gives him a soft smile and nods.

“Yeah.  Trust me.  I know we have.”  He tells him, cupping Connor’s face.

“How?”  Connor breathes.

Hank kisses him tenderly.  “Because we’re good people.  And we have each other. And because of that, we win every single day.”

Connor finally smiles at that, faintly, and lets Hank lead him from the room, leaving Elijah behind.  The medics and the cops will deal with him. Connor tangles their fingers together, leaning against him, and they make their way out of the apartment and back home.    
  
It really _has_ been a long day, and Sumo is waiting for them, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: does this seem TOO DRAMATIC? [remembers that this is actually basically the final showdown of the cat lady] ah.  
> SO THATS IT!!! OR IS IT???
> 
> its not.  
> lol an epilogue yet, do not worry.


	45. Epilogue: 6 Months Later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG OKAY now the REAL AND FINAL ENDING!!! would hank actually type like this? probably not but i wanted it to sound like him so. here goes.

_It’s me.  Again. Talkin’ about my fuckin’ ordinary life, as usual.  I still can’t believe anyone wants to read this shit, but apparently, people do. There are people out there that feel like I’ve felt. A lot of ‘em. And I guess it kinda helps.  Talking about it. I hope that maybe it can help some of you, too._

_It’s been six months since ‘The Eye of Elijah’ was arrested, and a lot has changed for me in that time.  And I’m sure a lot changed for many of you, too. But we’re all definitely better off without him running his mouth and spouting bullshit here._

_I know, probably better than most, that death doesn’t solve your problems.  Shit gets better. It’s not always easy, and it’s not fast, but one day… you’ll get there.  I know it’s hard to ask for help, but it helps to have someone in your corner._

_For me, that person was Connor.  He was my rock, he was the one who really pushed me to make positive changes.  I’m drinking less, I stopped smoking, I’m taking care of myself and tryin’ to let go of the past to focus on the present.  He helped me find a therapist, which is was very resistant to at first. I thought that was all bullshit. But, he was right about that.  As usual. My therapist’s name is Lucy, and she’s stupidly good at getting through to me. Connor saw her a few times, too. He was havin’ a hard time with his mortality.  And so was I._

 

* * *

 

Hank stands in the graveyard, staring silently down at the headstone.  No one has visited for a while, and it shows. It’s overgrown with weeds, the name barely even visible.  It makes him feel guilty, but he knows it’s understandable. He hadn’t had the mental strength to visit before now. That’s going to change.

He kneels down and gently clears the excess foliage away, a sad but fond smile on his face as the inscription finally becomes visible.  Softly, he traces a finger over the first letters of the name, a perfect ‘Co’ in curly script. He tries not to cry, but the tears fall despite his efforts.  He lets them. It’s cathartic, in a way.

 

* * *

 

_I started doin’ all this mostly for Connor.  But somewhere along the line that changed. Making him proud is always gonna be my biggest motivator, but now, I’m doing it for me, as well.  I can’t even really pinpoint when things shifted. Change is sneaky like that._

_The past few months were… difficult.  It was hard for me to remain positive while the clock was ticking on my boyfriend’s life. I’d been living for him, how was I gonna go on without him?  I tried my hardest to be strong for him, but there were days when I couldn’t put on a happy face. The day that he sat me down and told me what he wanted me to do with… his body after he was gone comes to mind.  That was one of the hardest conversations I’ve ever had._

_But, we got through it.  And I know it made Connor feel… better.  And that made me feel better, too. Despite how hard things were at times, I wouldn’t have traded time with him for anything.  We were happy, and he taught me how to live again._

 

* * *

 

Hank can feel someone watching him from a ways back, trying their best to make their presence unobtrusive.  He scrubs a hand over his face, quickly wiping away the tears as he hears tentative footsteps heading towards him.

“Are you alright?” a gentle voice behind him inquires.  “I’m sorry to interrupt you, I wanted to give you some space, but you looked distressed from where I was standing...”  

Hank turns to face the speaker, to assure them that he’s okay and that he doesn’t mind the interruption.  

“Yeah,” he murmurs.  “I’m good.”

 

* * *

 

_Anyway.  Yesterday was pretty shitty, I’m not gonna lie.  It was one of those days where you feel like you’re back in the past, and all the good shit that happened was just a dream.  I couldn’t even get out of bed. But… I woke up today feeling better._

_I know I’ll never be able to really get rid of it.  This… invisible illness. It’ll always be living somewhere deep inside me.  And it’ll hit me hard at times. But if there’s one thing Connor taught me… it’s that you gotta pick yourself up and keep goin’.  It doesn’t matter that life isn’t fair, or that you’ve made mistakes. If you fall down, you gotta get back up again._

_And speaking of Connor…  we don’t really know what happened.  Well, I have my suspicions, but none really make sense.  But, against all odds, he got better. I probably should have led with that, huh? His six months came and went, and we were both on edge, thinking every day would be his last.  But, at the seven-month mark, he decided to go back to the doctor. He stopped going when he found out he was terminally ill, but…_

_I went with him, for moral support, you know?  And the doctor was really surprised to see how… healthy he looked.  He did some tests, and then he called us a few days later, wanting us to come back. He was sure he did something wrong, or the test results got mixed up. But the second round of tests showed the same thing.  That Connor was cured. It was like he’d never even had cancer in the first place. People don’t just… recover from that kind of thing.  But his brain tumor was gone. And he’s okay._

_We were in shock, we both cried like fuckin’ babies, and I’m not ashamed to admit that.  We thought we’d have so little time together, and now… it almost feels like we’re starting our relationship all over again, with the time to do ‘normal couple’ shit.  We don’t know what to do with all this time, and it feels amazing. We go on fuckin’_ dates _now.  We do shit with our neighbors.  How crazy is that?_

_I'm goin’ back to work next month.  I’m really gonna try to take shit seriously again, and actually_ do _my job and help people.  It’s the least I can do at this point.  Connor’s babysitting for one of our neighbors, and doing IT work remotely._

_I wanted to say thanks to everyone here, for all the positive shit you said to me when Connor was dying.  I never woulda thought I’d be talking about my feelings like this, posting on some fuckin’ forum, but Connor really helped with that, too.  I’m_ expressing myself _.  Fuckin’ weird._

_Anyway.  We don’t know how Connor got better.  Chalk it up to a miracle, or a blessing, or whatever you believe.  Personally, I like to call it… a reward. But the how doesn’t matter.  He’s here and that’s all I care about. He goes with me when I visit my son’s grave, which is another thing I hadn’t done in years.  We don’t talk much, it’s just nice to have someone there with me._

_We’ve taken a trip back to Connor’s hometown, as well.  We cleaned out his old place, brought home all of the stuff that he left behind when he first came to Detroit.  He didn’t think he’d be needing it at the time. We went to… the park where his brother died and then later we visited his grave, too.  It was tough for him, I think, but I know it was also good for him. I just hope I was as much of a help to him as he was for me._

_In our apartment, now, we’ve got a few picture frames on the living room wall.  One of them holds a picture of my son. I’d never thought I’d be in a place where looking at his picture wouldn’t make me want to die, but here I am.  Another frame holds a picture of Connor’s brother. And a third has a picture of the two of us, that one of our neighbors managed to sneak when we were over at their place one night.  As much as I hate to admit it, it’s a really nice picture. Well, any picture of Connor is a nice picture, but I don’t_ hate _the way I look, either.  And Connor insisted on having a framed picture of our dog, too.  Our fuckin’ weird little family. It’s… pretty great._

_So.  Yeah.  We both got a second chance at life.  We’ve been doing a lot and planning a lot but also just taking things one day at a time.  And after all the shit we’ve both been through, I think it’s what we deserve. It might take me 800 more lives, but I think I’m starting to get the hang of this ‘living’ thing.  And, you know what, it’s actually worth it._

 

* * *

 

Connor smiles softly at him and wraps an arm around his waist, leaning into his side.  Hank pulls him even closer, pressing a gentle kiss to his temple as the two of them look down at Cole’s grave.

“Thanks for… coming with me today, babe,” he murmurs, and Connor just tightens his grip.

“Of course, Hank,” he replies.  “I wanted to be here with you.”

Hank smiles, warm affection for Connor almost overwhelming him.  “He would have loved you, you know?” he tells his partner. “I know he was just a baby, but…” he has to pause, emotion blocking his throat.  Connor rests his head on his shoulder, encouraging him to take his time.

“But who wouldn’t love you?” Hank finally manages, voice barely more than a rough whisper.  Connor inhales sharply, moving to pull Hank into a full embrace. Hank goes willingly, wrapping his arms around Connor, holding him tight.

“I would have loved him, too,” Connor replies quietly, his hands rubbing soothing circles over Hank’s back.  Hank sighs shakily and buries his face into Connor’s neck, just breathing in his scent and blocking out the rest of the world for a moment.

Connor hums quietly, and Hank recognizes the tune from one of the records they listened to the night before.  He presses a quick kiss to Connor’s neck before pulling away, managing a small smile. Connor beams back at him.

“Do you want to be alone?” Connor asks him, and Hank shakes his head.

“No.  Never again,” he replies, and Connor gives him a look so full of affection that Hank has to glance away.  “Jesus,” he mutters, unable to hide his growing smile. “Come on, let's get out of here. It’s gettin’ late.”

Connor nods, but before they leave he kneels down, taking a rose from his breast pocket and laying it gently across Cole’s headstone.  Hank exhales, recognizing it immediately as the rose he brought back from death, all those months ago. It still looks as perfect as the day he gave it to Connor.  The smaller man glances back up at him, making sure his actions didn’t upset Hank.

Hank just offers him a hand, pulling him back upright.  Connor stumbles slightly, and they both smile when Hank steadies him, hands on his waist.  “That was really fuckin’ sweet, Con,” Hank tells him, ruffling his curly hair playfully. God, he’ll never get tired of being able to do _that_.  Connor smiles, relieved, and doesn’t even complain that Hank ‘messed up his hair’ like he usually would.  Jokingly, for the most part.

“Sumo’s probably wonderin’ where we are,” Hank mutters, taking Connor’s hand and leading him back towards their car.  He glances over his shoulder one last time, getting one last look at Cole’s headstone. He’ll be back soon.

But right now, it’s time to go home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG OKAY DONE!!!!!!!! thank you so much for reading and commenting and kudos-ing my first ever fic, i hope u enjoyed it. and of course i wasnt gonna kill connor, who do u think i am? i briefly contemplated writing all the different endings of the game and letting yall pick ur ending, but i mean, come on, the TITLE of the fic is for the golden ending and also........... i cant do unhappy endings im sorry lol. as always, come find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/gaydeviants)!!! and if for some reason this is ur thing, [here is the google doc version of this fic](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1mnvG7GdkYEqyZy2iE97TEehXSE4le1qTI3fkw0mO_h0/edit?usp=sharing), complete with my notes and comments and links to screenshots to help me ~set the mood~  
> ummmm idk what else to say, this is WEIRD for me but this definitely isnt the end of this universe ive got a LOT of half formed fics already started!!! THANK U AGAIN for reading <3

**Author's Note:**

> u can find me on twitter @[gaydeviants](https://twitter.com/gaydeviants) as well as tumblr under [the same username](https://gaydeviants.tumblr.com/) blease talk to me im so shy i dont know how to initiate conversations but i want to be friends i promise.


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